


Observation

by Nekhs



Series: Living After LIFE [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Actual Disaster Eddie Brock, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Motifs, Asexual Character, Autistic Will Graham, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Eddie Brock, Bisexual Natasha Romanov, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Canon-Typical Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Communicating Like Actual Fucking Adults, Dogs, Dubiously Consensual Cannibalism, Eddie Brock Has A Bluetooth, Enemies to Friends, Established Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote (Marvel), Established Relationship, Found Family, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Hallucinations, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannigram - Freeform, Human Experimentation (mentioned), Humans Are Weird, Irondad & Spiderson, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter, Mental Health Issues, Moving, Murder, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov Knows All, Neighbors, Non-Explicit Sex, Other, POV Alternating, POV Outsider, POV Third Person, Past Child Abuse, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Pregnant Venom Symbiote (Marvel), Psychic Abilities, Reality Checking, Schizophrenia, Season/Series 01, Self-Doubt, Sokovia Accords, Spoilers, Take A Hammer And Fix The Canon, Team as Family, The Red Room, Therapy, Timeline What Timeline, Tony Stark Has Issues, Trans Female Character, We Do NOT Eat Cops!, Well-Intentioned Villain Tony Stark, What Makes A Human Symbiote-Compatible?, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham is a Mutant, Women Being Awesome, events happen out of canon order, ish, pregnancy-related pica, rated M FOR MURDER, surprising no one, symbrock, the dogs are fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-09-01 19:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 74,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16771552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekhs/pseuds/Nekhs
Summary: Fire and symbiotes don't mix, so, when you think about it, really, they should have moved out of California ages ago. Eddie, V, and their slightly dysfunctional family took the hint, this year - it's time to get out.In retrospect, though, they really should have expected that a trail of headless corpses would attract attention.It turns out that their new neighbor from the FBI who lives just down the road might actually be the least of their worries, since, after all, extraterrestrial threats are practically guaranteed to draw out the Avengers.





	1. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eddie is a bit cheap, misses the east coast, and wants a week alone with his Other. 
> 
> Also there's fire.

“It's not that I don't love San Francisco, Anne. I do! But, I got to thinking about how the whole place catches fire, literally every year, you know?”

Dawn smiled as she passed him, carrying a much smaller number of boxes. Lasher trailed behind her, a ‘leather’ leash formed from one of his tendrils hanging from her belt. They were inseparable, and the bonded hound hardly needed a leash to behave, but the law had its demands, as did other humans.

She was sort of proud of her dad. Eddie had finally figured out how his Bluetooth actually worked, which was good, because it would be bad for his cover, if he pretended to use it everywhere except when he was actually taking calls. “You _know_ how fire and, you know, _my family_ don't really mix, and with me going freelance again, none of us are actually stuck here in Cali. So we're getting out. ”

“Tell Anne we say hello, Eddie!” He nodded, but she'd pitched her voice so that he wouldn't need to relay the message.

Dawn was helping carry their boxes to the large, rented vehicle. Eddie believed that all of their things would fit inside, and she was surprised to find that she agreed. She'd never considered a time when she'd have more things that were hers than would fit in the running bag, but she did.

Her belongings now fit into three boxes and two bags: two of the boxes held her clothes, one contained her computer.

The tablet, a little thing she could read books on, usually fit into her everyday bag, as did her cell phone and many basic necessities. She even had a pillow, a blanket, and one change of clothes tucked into the bottom - it wasn't as robust as the running bag, the duffel she kept for _just in case_.

Today, though, she'd managed to find a bit more room in the running bag. The tablet and phone both had durable cases; they could handle being pressed in among her tightly folded clothing.

Dawn was happy with her family, and she had no need to run away.

Her birth parents had officially signed her over into Eddie's care, and Eddie had proven himself to be a stable enough adult to serve as her legal guardian, at least until she was too old for tax purposes. They were still looking into what kind of college Dawn could handle, when they had decided on the move.

Being truthful, it just made her happy. Her identification had been updated: Dawn Angela _Brock_ , and a photo where she looked as happy as she was legally allowed. (The DMV frowned on smiling, which, she supposed, made them frown on everything else.)

She need never think of her birth parents again: in all ways except the physical, Eddie and V were her parents now, and V was even Sunny's actual parent.

Dawn set the stack of boxes inside the van, then made a show of climbing inside. She was struggling with that, with hiding how strong they were, but she knew it was necessary. Her eyes lingered on the Watcher in the far corner of the truck, and Sunny's senses confirmed that it wasn't real. That done, she brushed her golden ‘bracelet’ against Lasher's ‘leash,’ and the dog jumped up, following her.

Sunny helped her settle this round of boxes into place, and she smiled, studiously ignoring the shadowy form in the back. Sunny was so helpful. They accepted her wordless praise with a sense of warm gratitude.

Lasher padded over to the corner where the Watcher was standing, sniffing at the empty space. They were seeking the foe she could see, which was a nice, but pointless gesture.

Dawn shifted the bag across her back, making sure she was between the Watcher and her pack. There wasn't much that was breakable inside of it, but because of its sentimental value, she wanted to make extra certain it remained safe as could be.

Nothing could stop the Watchers, though, because the Watchers weren't real.

Eddie had helped her arrange the running bag, and if she ever needed it, she would be able to run. He made certain she knew that he understood, that it was okay, and she would always be welcome back once her crisis was over. She had never needed to use it - having it available was enough to soothe her heart.

Knowing she _could_ leave made her more secure in staying. Eddie understood that. Eddie understood _her_.

 _He will abandon you there._ It wasn't the first time the woman had suggested such a betrayal.

She shrugged. _Not on purpose,_ she replied silently, and she truly believed that. _And if he does, we can manage without him. He made sure of that._

_Do you really believe that? Murderer?_

She nodded to the apparition, letting Sunny's sight swirl over her own. She couldn't do that in public, because of what it did to her eyes, but the back of the van was plenty private. When she looked with Sunny's vision, the shadow was gone, and she turned away. “Come, Lash.”

She didn't count her bed, nor any of the other furniture she used among her own possessions, since if she needed to use the running bag, she couldn't consider bringing furniture with her. Those belonged to the family, to Eddie and V, Leslie and Abby, Lasher and Bully, which is the name Eddie had picked for the dog, even though Lasher's host wasn't quite the same sort of intelligent that a human might be. It was important, to Eddie, to name the dog, and so they did.

Bully was naturally very friendly, without a single mean bone in his body. Eddie thought that it had been the castration that San Francisco enforced on pit bulls.

V had suggested, teasing, that if it was so important that Lasher should not reverse the damage, maybe Eddie should have such a procedure. Eddie had cringed, covering his groin at that idea. V liked to tease, but they liked Eddie more. Permanent mutilation was off the table for them; it was a bluff.

They also liked to tease Dawn.

For example, today they had teased her about only taking a few boxes at a time. They were certain that Venom’s strength would overcome Scream's raw speed, and they would put more of the boxes away, ready for transport. Maybe they would have been right, if not for the fact that Anne had called.

“It's - rural,” Eddie was saying, standing just outside the doorway, holding his stack of boxes and leaning against the wall. She was pretty sure that the stack he was carrying had more weight than a human should be able to lift, but it was okay: Eddie _looked_ strong, in a way Dawn never would. “Someplace out in Virginia, a lot of open air and plenty of trees.”

On her way back inside the apartment building, she brushed her golden ‘bracelet’ against Eddie's ‘ring,’ voice playful.

 **We've won, old man,** Scream chirped to Venom, peeling away before they could form a retort, much less share it.

Eddie groaned. “Look, I'll call you back. I've got a rude kid to beat up.”

Anne’s voice was chirpy, audible from the Bluetooth but only barely. To a human, she couldn't have been heard, but Scream wasn't human. “Hi Dawn, make sure to hit him back for me!”

“Will do!” She grinned, playfully.

Two months had passed since she first arrived on Eddie's doorstep, and they could joke about that, now. In secret, in private, Venom and Scream had even sparred one another. Scream won when the terrain was rough - Venom won in open combat.

As a courtesy, Scream never used their voice when they sparred against their family. That was cheating, after all, just like Agony's acid was cheating on the rare times they participated.

Leslie was still inside the apartment - it was time to tell her they were leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, it's these nerds. 
> 
> Eddie might have moved back to the big apple, except he's most likely still not super welcome there, and also there's a few too many aliens actively in residence for him to feel comfortable.
> 
> Oh, hey, I made a thing.


	2. (In)Stability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will is once again made to look.

Eight months had passed since San Francisco. 

Eight months since “Venom,” as the vigilante had identified themselves to witnesses, dropped off the face of the planet, never to kill again.

Or so Will had hoped.

There had only been one relatively-untouched crime scene, the one murder that their investigation had interrupted. Will only had to feel the skull crunch between his teeth once, only had to taste raw human brains once. 

Of course that was one time too many, but he had no illusions about the drive of a man like Jack Crawford. If Venom killed again, Jack would make Will look. 

Ahab had his white whale. Jack Crawford had the Chesapeake Ripper. 

Will, apparently, had Venom. 

They had lodged themselves into his thoughts, a mocking ghost that had even managed to edge out his memory of Hobbs. 

The difference between Jack's obsession and this  _ intrusive memory _ was that Will didn't want to  _ catch _ Venom. He didn't want them to get caught, he didn't want to participate in the catching, and a part of him had even begun to accept their logic: if you kill enough killers, the overall number does eventually go down. _Hadn't he proved that with Hobbs?_

That was dangerous. 

If they had never surfaced again, it would have been too soon. There was nothing human about what they did, for all that Jack insisted that they were just a man in a suit. 

“This looks like a war zone, Jack.” 

His mouth was dry as he reviewed the pictures. Christ, but they had taken chunks out of the concrete, the gouges showing like a child's handprint in the sand. Many of them were high on the walls, even the ceilings. 

And there was blood. Of course there was blood. Here was a man's body, the protective helmet snapped on half, the head and a chunk of the torso missing. Huge gouges were ripped from his flesh, the marks showing like sharp fangs. God help him, but he was already able to picture dragging the man in for the first bite. 

“Looks like ‘Venom’ has struck again. I thought you said they only went after criminals, Will.” 

This next photo wasn't a body, at least. Here were the remains of a cage. The ground was littered with powdered glass. The cage itself had been formed from heavy steel plates, until someone - or something - had pierced one side. The metal was twisted apart by force, pried open from the outside. 

Whatever had done this wasn't using the weapons Venom favored - another creature like them, maybe? The marks on the metal weren't claws, exactly: each of the twisted plates had one initial puncture, the steel torn open from there. 

He could hear the screech of metal in his mind,  _ determination overwhelming the strain. Once this was over, they could all go home.  _

“There's more of them,” he murmured, going through the photos again. “And this - cell, this cage. Something was inside, something important. I think - I think this was a rescue mission.”

Jack Crawford was a driven man. 

He looked at Will in that way that meant that Will was in for another long, miserable flight, to try and catch a killer - _killers?_ \- that only Jack Crawford appeared to want to catch. Hell, even the local police didn't seem to want to deal with it: the SFPD hadn't  _ quite _ actively interfered with their investigation last time, but there  _ had _ been unexpected resistance at every turn, as though someone  _ other _ than Will didn't want anyone to actually bother catching this killer. 

_ As though some secrets were meant to stay buried. _

“I  _ can't _ look at these things for you. I know what you think, but they are  _ not _ human, and I can tell you right now, this?” He gestured at the array of disjointed photos. “This is retaliation. This is the work of someone who's been pushed too far.”

Jack Crawford also didn't know how to accept ‘no’ for an answer, particularly when Will didn't actually  _ say _ no. He made a lot of noise about what he was and was not capable of, but in the end, Will Graham never actually said no. 

And so, in the end, Jack accepted his resigned, ‘yes.’

* * *

It took almost a full week, round trip, to confirm what he'd already known. He flew out there, spent a couple of days picking over the crime scene, and a couple more recovering from what he'd seen, when he  _ looked _ . 

But hey, it wasn't all bad. 

Hannibal -  _ Dr. Lecter _ \- had insisted on taking the trip with him.  _ He _ knew how badly these creatures set Will on edge, he knew that Jack was asking more than he understood with this. He was there, serving as a quiet support, a pillar of stability in the tomb-like silence of the now-vacant facility.

Jack had arranged for them to have no interruptions, today. After all, Will  _ was _ the best. 

“There's nothing civilized about it, they just rip and tear like animals, and I can  _ taste _ it.” So, maybe Will was acting a bit petulant, here, whining about the job before he even got started. Honestly, he'd seen worse, visualized  _ doing _ worse, with less justification. 

_ After all, every species in the universe needed to eat something. Most aren't so choosy. _

He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to trace the steps of an alien monster as it wrought havoc, because at the end of the day, the raw power of it all was something he could absolutely find himself enjoying. Will was terrified of that, of the idea that he would  _ enjoy _ looking at these kills. 

That he'd find a taste for it. 

And Hannibal just - listened. He was good at that. “Would it be better, then, if the brains were cooked?” He smiled, inviting Will to share in his morbid sense of humor. 

They were still pretending that  _ he _ didn't know that Will knew about the literal - and figurative - skeletons in his pantry.

“Honestly?” Will found his voice tight. “Yes. Yes, it would.”

They walked, slowly, up toward the door. Will looked up, noting that a chunk of cement had been torn from the ceiling, here and there, again and again. He counted six points of contact, hands, knees, and feet. “Watching. Stalking their prey. They're observing. Waiting for something.”

_ They needed to find everyone. Then, they could go home. _

As the creature travelled, they seemed to grow more skilled, leaving less and less of a trail. The missing chunks of concrete became less frequent, though oddly, even from the start, they seemed to just be  _ missing _ \- there was no debris from the large chunks of ceiling, save for a fine dusting of powdered stone. 

_ Moving too quickly - they had to keep pace, but the stone gave out if they weren't careful about it.  _

Many of the victims had been torn to visceral, bloody pieces. The heads were always missing. Some had claw marks, some didn't. Some had their limbs torn off, some had their bones snapped. Most had been heavily armed, but their weapons were now so much crumpled metal. 

_ Kinetic force has little bearing on them. On **us**. _

There were several puddles of congealed sludge, hardened plastic in the texture. The puddles tended to coalesce in dents,  _ where the acid had worn away at the concrete before finally being neutralized.  _ He got a sense of disgust and unease from those  _ bodies - for  _ **_her,_ ** _ the alien hunger didn't quite overwhelm the entirely human revulsion.  _

“Look, here. These ones weren't eaten.”

Two bodies, their necks snapped, tossed aside like so much refuse, both male. One wore a scientist's lab coat, while the other wore a paramilitary uniform.

In the center of the room, there was a large, transparent cylinder, a container that had been punctured with the same precision as the metal plating. “See this? Venom uses their claws for everything. This is too precise to be their work. I think - I think this is where the killing started.”

“I'm afraid I must take your word for it. Should I wait outside the room?”

He nodded. 

“If you need anything, please, ask.”

The process of calling upon his gift had only gotten easier, the more he used it. 

He focused on the carnage. One step back, two, three, and he was  _ there _ , watching from their eyes as they stalked “Lab Coat.” They hung precariously from the ceiling, upside-down, but firmly anchored. 

_ Why didn't anyone ever look up? Humans were foolish like that.  _

It was hard to ignore the sense of companionship to it all: there was someone else involved, directing nearly every action. He was reminded of running a three-legged race, his own momentum determined by that of his partner. And they  _ were _ partners, feeding information and ideas back and forth, moving in unison. They restrained each other’s impulsive actions, marked the location of threats. 

For the first hour of their hunt, they didn't even kill anyone, merely observed.

The alien handled many of the more intricate details. They were responsible for clinging to the ceiling, meshing their essence with the concrete. It wasn't that their  _ claws _ ripped chunks out of the building - it was that they had bonded with the surface on the molecular level, and when they withdrew too quickly, the concrete was reduced to powder in their wake.

The human - Jack was right, there  _ was _ definitely a human element to each of these partnerships - the human was the killer, here. The alien Other was just doing what they were made to, what their bonded partner said was  _ necessary _ . 

As with the Shrike, the contrast gave clarity: this was reversed, compared to Venom.  _ That _ human was just along for the ride: this one was in the driver's seat, always. 

_ They'd learned what they needed, they'd found their family. He was no longer of use, and they had already wanted him dead.  _

“We do not consume him, because he offends us.” Here, they held Lab Coat aloft, drawing him up to speak to him. “He sees us as monsters, things to be studied and discarded when _we_ are no longer of use. This is not our first kill, but we are not used to the method, and we are clumsy. He suffocates before we determine how it's done, but the end result is the same. He is dead, and we can set to our true goal: our family.”

Will felt himself descend before the containment unit. In truth, his feet had always remained on the ground. He didn't have to pantomime every action, these days - the more often he looked, the easier it became. 

“We are surprised by the other. Like us, they are bonded. At first, they are not hostile, so we search for the key to this cage. They aren't important, not right now. These people took our family. We are simply taking them back.”

“He attacks us, because we want to free the others.” The combat was intense. He realized that this partnership had to be physically much smaller than Venom, but they had developed some kind of monstrous tentacles, an inhuman adaptation that let them fend off their larger assailant and even get the upper hand. _The red is stronger, the gold, more precise._ “We know the secret to separate the host from its bonded. We  _ sing _ .”

“It isn't our intention to kill the Other, but they chose death. They couldn't have survived without a partner; it was inevitable. We can make use of their talents, though: when the human is dealt with, we consume the remains of our wayward sibling. It's not  _ good _ , but it's useful. They won't go to waste. We can do things more directly, now.” He could hear the shattering glass as they opened the container, staring into the formless abyss within. 

**_Dad!_ **

He wasn't aware of falling, exactly, but suddenly, there were too many sensations, too many individuals, too many disparate streams of consciousness contained in one body. 

His mind couldn't process it all, so instead, he blacked out. 

Will was starting to hate San Francisco. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I'm a little nervous about this one! 
> 
> I'm still finding my voice with Will and Hannibal, but I think I'm getting there! 
> 
> Comments are love.


	3. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the leaving is the hardest part.

Leslie had not helped with the boxes, but that was okay. 

Eddie was taking a small vacation to see their move completed, but she wasn't. She was working basically until they were ready to go, citing a deadline that wouldn't wait, and she would be picking back up as soon as they arrived. They’d even managed to set it up so that they would have internet access almost as soon as they got to the new place. 

At that moment, she was sitting on her gaming chair, her work laptop perched on a tray that was also a fan, held in her lap. Abby was mimicking a large, violet-colored snake coiled protectively around her torso. 

“Food?” Dawn very, very carefully brushed the golden band of Sunny's essence against the cool imitation of scales that Abby had formed to camouflage her body. 

She sent a sense of worry/nagging through the link.  **Have you eaten? / You need to eat.** After that, she waited, her mind carefully blank, for the response. It was so much easier to communicate this way, but Leslie found it invasive if they went too deep.

The older woman looked up, a smile showing in her soft, brown eyes. (She  _ was _ older: Dawn wouldn't turn twenty until December, while Leslie was twenty-three.) 

Her shape had changed slightly, as she and Abby grew comfortable in their partnership: her face and body looked slightly softer, and her throat was completely smooth. She even smelled different now, but it was good, and barely noticeable under the soap she used. 

Dawn pulled her hand away, because she didn't want to overstep again. Once had been once too many times. 

She was happy that Abby had managed to fix what had been broken at Leslie's birth: she was happier this way, almost peaceful. Usually. 

“Yeah, I could go for something to eat. Are we saying goodbye to Mrs. Chen today?”

Dawn nodded, softly. The old lady knew that this was coming, of course, but that didn't make it hurt less to have to leave. This would be the first time Dawn had said goodbye to someone she cared about - she was scared of how she would respond. 

“Don't worry. We'll go, together, okay?”

They  _ did _ go together, pausing just long enough to tell Eddie where they were going. 

It was a short walk to the store, but Dawn’s heart was beating a staccato in her ribs because  _ the Eye was watching, _ its design etched into the street, watching, always watching. It could see through her, and when it watched, she was afraid of what it saw. 

And then they were inside the little shop. The Eye closed, and she was safe, for now. It was early in the day, for once, but there weren't any other customers. 

No words were said, at first. Mrs. Chen flipped a sign that read ‘back in 5’ on the glass door before locking it, leading them to the back. 

Dawn followed quietly, and Leslie followed her. 

When they were out of sight, Mrs. Chen turned, and Dawn lunged forward, clinging to her tightly. “Hey - hey. I understand. Okay,  _ little sunshine _ ?” The nickname, spoken in Chinese, was affectionate. “Not everyone gets this kind of chance. You are a very lucky girl. Make sure Eddie keeps up with his meditation, and keep Leslie out of trouble, you hear?” She pushed a card - address and phone number included - into Dawn's hands. “And you write, too, so I know you are okay.” Dawn nodded into her chest, returning to the hug.

She didn't like goodbyes. When they said those words to Anne and Dan, it would be even worse, she was sure of it. 

“Damn, Mrs. C. I didn't figure you cared.” Leslie sounded - overwhelmed?

An exasperated noise escaped the woman. “Of course I care. Who will clean the filth from my street when you lot are gone?” She looked down at Dawn. “Take extra care of this one. She's almost as reckless as Eddie.”

“I heard that!” Eddie's voice sounded from the main part of the store, as the bell for the front door jingled.

Mrs. Chen looked in that general direction, her face pinching. “That was locked for a reason, Eddie!”

“And it's locked again.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So - uh. Girls, you mind giving us a minute?” He looked sort of uncomfortable - of course he did. Over the time they'd lived together, Dawn had come to realize that he hated being seen as much as she did. 

Instead of hiding his whole body, though, he wore a mask woven out of bravado and a carefree smile. Eddie Brock was scared to be vulnerable in front of anyone. 

Dawn pulled away from Mrs. Chen, rubbing at her eyes. She nodded, softly. “We were going - burgers. Did you want?” 

It gave them a reason to provide him with enough privacy to say his goodbyes in peace. 

Mrs. Chen had been a good friend to them all - she was still a good friend, Dawn reminded herself, clutching the card as she left. She would write, and it would be okay. 

* * *

Anne insisted on double and triple-checking everything. 

First, she made sure that Dawn had packed all of the supplies she wanted to take, and then did the same for Leslie. After that, she made sure Dawn had everyone's contact information stored, with a firm reminder that if she needed anything important, she should call, no matter the time or distance. When she started repeating things, overthinking herself, Dan was there to comfort her. 

They were such good people. 

She would miss them terribly, but a part of her knew that it was for the best: if anything were to happen to Anne or Dan, if the LIFE people or someone like them knew that Eddie's closest friends were _ normal, _ what would happen then? 

So she shed tears with them over their farewells, but she was glad they would be in less danger. 

Dawn was not allowed to take the running bag onto the plane itself - instead, because it had liquids in it, toothpaste and shampoo, she would need to collect it after the plane landed. She didn’t much care for that idea, but the plane wouldn’t go anywhere if she made a fuss about it. So, the everyday bag, her backpack, came with her, and she had to trust that everyone would actually do their jobs.

It was not easy for Dawn to trust strangers to be competent.

The plane took off early in the afternoon, and was scheduled to land early in the evening. Leslie and Dawn got to fly, cross-country, to the new house they'd selected. The trip itself was supposed to run a little over four hours, and then they'd take a cab to the new house. 

Their plan was, they'd arrive early and make sure that the new place was something like livable, and Eddie and Lasher would cross the distance in the moving truck. It would take a week for them to get there by going overland, so until they did, it was sleeping bags and takeout for Dawn, a hotel room for Leslie. 

She’d insisted that she would be fine, on her own. After all, she’d managed well enough before Eddie had helped her plan and pack everything away. It was a proof of concept: if she couldn’t even make a week on her own, how would she last longer than that?

If she couldn’t, though, she’d join Leslie at the hotel. Either way, once Eddie arrived with the truck, they’d move everything into the new house, and after they were done with the truck, someone from the company would take it to a local office. Theoretically, after that, they'd get to unpacking everything. 

Notably, all of this meant that Eddie didn't have to fly, no special accommodations were needed to transport Lasher, and Eddie's bike stayed with him.

Eddie liked his bike. Eddie did not like heights. 

Almost as important, Eddie had a driver's license, and the cost of doing things this way was basically half of what it would be to hire strangers to manhandle their things. 

For her part, Leslie collapsed into the airplane seat almost immediately after boarding. She just covered her eyes with a violet sleeping mask, and promptly passed out. Dawn had a sneaking suspicion the mask was Abby, in disguise, but she didn't comment on it, at least not for now. 

Apparently, Leslie had barely beaten the deadline she had been worried about. 

Dawn spent part of the flight just reading. She wasn't as fast as Eddie or Leslie - she needed a few minutes for even a paragraph at a time.

It wasn't that no one had taught her how to read. It just took her longer. She was out of practice. 

Eddie had been surprised to learn she'd even gone to school at all, though it felt like a distant memory. He asked how nobody had known what her parents were like. 

She had kept quiet, made no real friends, and then just before she was supposed to move on to high school, her world shrank. She'd been locked away, the proverbial princess in a tower - or maybe the monster in the attic was a better description. 

**Not monster.**

She sighed, softly. Sunny had learned what an ‘inside voice’ sounded like. They'd also learned that Dawn didn't really like herself very much. 

Working over what she wanted to say - beyond the initial kneejerk response - she sent a flood of warmth, reassurance, and love. 

_ No, you aren't. _

They picked at the words, finding the fault easily.  **You either!**

_ I -  _

Dawn put the tablet to sleep, closing her eyes. 

The world inside of her head was far more private than the airplane outside of her body. Darkness sprawled around them, dotted by swirls of color and points of light. She remained seated, while Sunny appeared across from her, formed into the half-wild shape they'd created together, as Scream. 

**You think!** Sunny pointed at her, claws extended.  **You don't think, ‘we saved them!’ You think, ‘bad Dawn, kill bad men, bad.’** **_Wrong!_ **

She sighed.

_ But murder is bad, _ she replied, making sure her real lips remained sealed.  _ We killed them without even giving them a chance. _

They shook their head, the coils of red and gold ‘hair’ flying as though their form were physical, as though the laws of reality touched this secret space inside their mind.  **Eddie kills!**

_ And Eddie feels bad about it after. Every time. _

They sat, cross-legged, their intangible form floating in midair as they just  _ considered _ .

**We feel bad,** they offered, finally. 

She shook her head.  _ We feel bad about the fact we should feel bad, _ she admitted, softly.  _ We feel bad - I feel bad - because we killed those men, even ate some of them, and it bothers Eddie. It bothers Leslie. It is a thing which is bad to do in almost every place on Earth, a thing which almost every person would feel bad about, and … I don't.  _

She pulled up the memory, reconstructing it between them. Here was Scream, in all their glory, their victim held tight by dozens of tentacles. They snapped his neck without mercy or regret. There was Scream, crunching down another man's skull. 

But Sunny wouldn't let her paint a half-truth. The men whose necks they snapped had wanted to kill them. The nutrients they devoured had mostly gone to help V.

_ The goal was clear. The action we had to take to fix the problem was to kill the people who stood in our way. It was the only solution, it made sense. _ She considered, picking at the memory.  _ There was nothing different we could have done, in that situation - not if we wanted to save our family. _

**We love. We kill. We kill, to protect.**

_ Like Venom? _

**Like Venom.** Sunny nodded firmly, and in the mindscape, they moved to wrap her in a warm,  loving embrace. 

In reality, dozens of tendrils wrapped around her chest, underneath her shirt, and compressed, the symbiote version of a hug.

_ Thank you, Sunny. _

**I’m here,** they whispered into her soul.  **I have us. You have me.**

Dawn was so,  _ so _ very glad she didn't have to face the future alone anymore. Everything was so much easier, with someone watching out for her, someone on her side. 

Even if they  _ had _ to remain a secret. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: an actual in-the-flesh meeting of the nerds.
> 
> PS: I made another thing. It's wallpaper sized, I guess.


	4. Neighborly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will's eyes are pried open.

After his collapse, Will had finally,  _ finally _ been allowed to rest, to put serial killers and everything else out of his mind for a little while. 

He had been on vacation for three whole days now - he'd even gotten a chance to go fishing. 

Hannibal Lecter stopped by, nearly every day. They shared meals together, with Will never asking what the meat was made of, and Hannibal never outright lying. 

He was very good at being indirect. Will was learning a lot from him. 

So what if the man  _ was _ the Ripper? He was also becoming Will's truest friend. And they were still playing the game, the game that let Will pretend he didn't know. 

He told himself that he'd turn Hannibal in. He'd give him up to the proper authorities. In the beginning, when he'd first fled from the scene of a vulgar copycat murder, he'd been tempted to do it just to rub it in Jack's face. He wanted so desperately to find the Ripper, and here he was, trusting the man with Will's fragile psyche. 

But that was the thing. Hannibal seemed to genuinely care about maintaining Will's mind, even when it became clear that Jack Crawford didn't. Especially then. 

So the Ripper killed, and Will felt a twinge of guilt, and then Hannibal helped bring his competition to justice, and that evened things out, didn't it? He was helping, offering the kind of insight that only another killer - or Will Graham - could provide. 

Will's thoughts liked to circle around the dark spectacle that was Hannibal Lecter. It was a comfortable path, much like the gravel road he was walking along, Winston escorting him faithfully. He liked the silence of nature, the isolation of feeling as though he was the only human for miles. 

Except he wasn't alone, after all. Other people had a way of intruding on his peace. 

The old house had always had a creepy aura to it. That was probably why it had stood empty for almost a decade, no matter how aggressively the realtors tried to sell it. Apparently, the price had finally dropped low enough, or someone had gotten desperate enough, because the ‘for sale’ sign had been changed to read ‘sold’ in bold letters. 

That wasn't what had caught Will's attention today, though. There was a glint of light at the rooftop, a smallish, humanoid figure shivering in the early afternoon sunlight. 

She stumbled, at the edge of the building, and Will realized that he was probably the only person around. He felt a sense of obligation, a duty to try and help, and that was why he started running towards the scene. 

Two long, golden tendrils spilled out from within the girl's hair, snatching at the wood behind her, letting her course-correct so that she landed on all fours, like some kind of cat. 

Even so, she should have been injured, but she made no sound, standing fluidly. A chunk of siding had made its way into her hands, and she was inspecting the damage she had done when he was finally within shouting distance. 

“Are you all right?” Will didn't have much trouble catching his breath, but he still paused at the driveway, because when she looked at him, her eyes met his. 

He saw golden flames licking at the edges of green irises, and he saw himself, his hair plastered against his forehead, a note of surprise in his expression. He felt panic set in, deep and abiding, his heartbeat thudding wildly in his chest from fear at  _ what he had seen. _

The stranger tore her eyes away first. There was a moment's hesitation, and when she spoke, the words didn't quite fit inside her mouth. “Um - yes. Okay. We're fine.”

Winston caught up quickly enough, but when he saw the girl, he whined, loudly, half-hiding behind Will's legs. 

“He yours?” There was longing in her voice, though she didn't approach the dog - he knew that  _ she _ knew, something about her scent left most dogs cold to her.

He had a hysterical urge to introduce her to Hannibal. The doctor would have a field day with this. “Yeah - yeah, his name’s Winston.” If he let it, the conversation could have easily drifted to dogs, small talk, and never quite discussing what he knew. But he got enough of that from Hannibal, and he  _ needed _ to know. “I'm sorry, I have to ask, did you just … fall off of this building?”

“... maybe.” With the way that her eyes shifted away, that was definitely a ‘yes.’

And, moreover, a yes that she felt the need to try and disguise. “Awfully long fall,” he offered. “You sure you're okay?”

“Fine, we're -  _ I'm _ fine.” We. She spoke in the plural, and then covered her face with her hands, as though realizing what she'd said. At least she had the sense to try and lie, to cover herself. “I am.”

He had been watching her face, watching the emotions play out in her body language, and he figured she'd have at least a few more seconds, hiding her eyes with her hands. He had miscalculated, and this time, her eyes caught his  _ to reaffirm the lie.  _

_ All they wanted was to be left alone. They just wanted a place to  _ **_exist_ ** _ , without having to worry what other people would think.  _

Will didn't need his ‘gift’ to emphasize with  _ that _ . 

It didn't happen this way. He had to force himself to look,  _ try _ to assume another point of view. He never experienced this sense of being in two places at once, of being two people at once. He had always been just one person - it was merely a question of who that person  _ was _ . 

Their eyes rolled with threads of golden flame -  _ an offer made, an offer rejected, if only because their Dad would never approve _ \- and the knowledge that in that one dizzy moment,  _ they _ had seen  _ him _ . Fear rolled off them in waves, and the girl backed away until she thumped against the house, before finally she covered her face in her hands once more. The Other coiled, protectively, ready to strike. 

He hadn't  _ looked _ , but he still  _ saw _ . 

“But you  _ are _ looking!” Had - what had  _ she _ seen of him? “You  _ saw, _ you can't  _ see, _ you're not supposed to  _ know!” _

He blew out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. “It's my job to  _ see things _ , okay?” Something told him that it would be an exceptionally bad idea to force the issue right now. “I don't know which part of this you’re trying to hide, but I would  _ really _ appreciate if you could just  _ calm down.” _

“O-okay.” She closed her eyes, turning her attention inward. Huh. That never worked. 

Will felt the need to know, to confirm the sneaking suspicion that had been building since he saw thin ropes of gold rip a chunk of wood from the building like it was nothing. He _had_ the truth already - his 'gift' had told him everything - but his conscious mind needed proof. Jack Crawford might trust his gut, but he'd only gained that trust because the evidence always supported him. 

How had she even gotten up to the roof in the first place? He knew the answer, but he needed proof. He needed to know that his instincts were right, even if he didn't  _ want _ to be right this time. 

He didn't want it to be true, because that would mean that San Francisco had followed him home. His one refuge was compromised, and he didn't want that. 

So he took a walk around the house, just to give his theory a little extra weight, and damn it if he wasn't right, just like always. 

He knelt, on the far side of the building, and he ran his fingers through Winston's fur, debating with himself. His empathy had never steered him wrong. This kid was skittish and fearful. 

She didn't kill for pleasure, passion, or profit - she wasn't the kind of murderer he normally dealt with. And yet, she had it in her. She had blood on her hands, blood in her mouth,  _ and what bothered her most was the way other people would react. _ He'd seen for himself - she was cold about it, even professional, when the time came. When it was  _ necessary _ \- or when she was forced. 

Jack trusted his gut because he was the best, and Will's gut said that this kid was the second killer at the LIFE Facility. 

She was also just a kid, maybe eighteen or so, maybe younger. If he spooked her, she'd run. 

He wasn't sure if that was better or worse. 

Making up his mind, he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. He circled around to the front, where she was looking up at the damage she’d caused, still holding the missing piece. “Do you even  _ own _ a ladder?” 

She looked in his direction. “What if we don't?” There was a wary note in her tone, calculation in her expression. He managed to dodge her eyes, at least. 

“Right, of  _ course _ you don't,” he said, and he scrubbed his hands down his face. “Look, this - ” he gestured at the chunk of wood in her hand, before sweeping his arm out to encompass her house, her yard, her very  _ self _ . “This isn't part of my job. I investigate  _ murders _ , okay, not - weird kids or - whatever.”

She blinked, blinked again, then stole a glance at his face. “So - you won't tell anybody?” The kid bit her lip, and he could see the moment her attention turned inwards. It was painfully obvious, and if he planned on talking to her more than exactly this once, he might have pointed it out. 

“Who would even believe me?” He stepped back. “I'm Will. I guess - I guess we're neighbors, now.”

And he headed home, because unlike Jack Crawford, Will knew when to leave well enough alone. He called Hannibal, letting himself bask in the older man's voice, and he tried - he really tried - to put it out of his mind. If only he could have succeeded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've figured out my post-NaNo schedule! Sort of. I'm thinking either Monday/Friday or M/W/F.


	5. Haunted (Not)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it isn't a horror movie if you're the monster.

**_Earlier ..._ **

“If Eddie has the balls to come out here like a horror movie stepdad, talking about how this move will be good for us, I’m going to have Abby bite him,” Leslie announced, looking up at the worryingly dark house with understandable trepidation. 

Dawn had to agree with that assessment - she didn't much like the look of this place. It had seemed - less ominous in the pictures.

Still, it was theirs. Bought, paid for, and owned, in a way that the apartment wasn't - even the land belonged to them. “We're scarier than any ghost,” she pointed out, producing the key and moving to open the door.

She'd never been someplace that felt so  _ old. _

“So, how long do you think until we can get a cable guy out here, again?” 

Dawn shrugged, dropping her bag by the front door. It was important, yes - and if there  _ were _ any dangers to face, she would prefer it was safely out of the way. “Eddie says, after he gets here. Appointment made already. We want to check things over, okay?”

“Better you than me,” Leslie replied, bluntly. “Not gonna lie, I'm still pretty beat. Can we get sick?”

Another shrug. “Dunno. Tired, though. You should eat.”

“Yes,  _ Mom _ .”

Dawn grinned at her exasperated tone. Leslie was still getting used to having someone looking out for her. It was understandable; it took time for Dawn to get used to it, too.

“Are you _sure_ you're gonna be okay, by yourself?” Leslie caught Dawn's wrist in one hand, sending a rush of concern, familial affection, and protective instinct. “It's not too late to join me back in civilization, you know?”

Dawn smiled, at that, covering Leslie's hand with one of her own. She cared about Leslie. She was touched that the older girl felt the need to protect her - but she needed to know that she could stand on her own, too. Well - on her own, except for Sunny's aid. “Never alone. We’ll be fine, promise.”

“I -  _ we'll _ \- hold you to that. If you need anything, call, okay? I mean it.”

Dawn nodded, wrapping Leslie in a tight hug, before gently nudging her toward the door. “Don't want the taxi to leave without you,” she said with a playful grin. “See you soon, promise.”

“See you.”

And then she was gone, leaving Dawn and Sunny to poke around the old place alone. 

Her grin faded as they explored the house. It had been cleaned recently - she could smell the chemicals, the paint. The power had already been turned on, not that she needed the lights to see. If anyone had been lurking in the shadows of their home, they'd have bigger problems than what her eyes looked like.

Dawn was willing to do what was necessary, to ensure that her family was safe. 

She wasn't expecting a fight, though. She'd learned,  _ Scream _ had learned, how to sense the presence of a human nearby. Like a glass waiting to be filled, an empty host. The sense was Sunny's, but they were one being, two parts of a whole. 

After Leslie left, there wasn't anyone in the house except Scream themselves. They were just scouting, learning the lay of her new home. This place didn't even have rats, they had determined. They were, however, picking up other noises, spots of warmth and tiny, thin squeaks that she shouldn't be able to hear. The bats - it sounded like bats - were spooked by their presence, could sense the predator in her like an owl. 

Dawn sent Leslie a text about her discovery, but she didn't really expect a response. The odds were good that she would fall right into bed when she arrived, so no help would be forthcoming, at least not for a while. That was inconvenient, but it could wait. She wasn't sure whether or not she should deal with them - she liked bats, truthfully, and they wouldn't be much of a meal for Sunny. Could they even get at the colony from inside? That was the better question, and thus far, signs pointed to ‘no.’

She stepped outside of the building, looking around. Eddie had made it clear that no one should know. No one could see.

But there wasn't anyone nearby, no empty hosts, so it was safe to brace herself against the wall, letting a shiver of gold escape her skin. Checking her anchors, she began to climb. If nothing else, she could check the roof and make sure it was as well-repaired as the rest of the house.  _ We good? _

**Got us,** Sunny confirmed, lacing their essence just beneath the surface of the wooden siding. 

Hand, leg, other hand, other leg, each movement giving them plenty of time to anchor her fingertips, her palms, her knees and toes. Breathe in, retract so many thin tendrils it looked like a fine paste. Breathe out, and press those tendrils in somewhere new, their molecules jostling in among those of the sturdy wood. Retract, press everything that had been displaced exactly where it was meant to be. 

The process was slow, but less likely to take chunks of their dwelling away. More than one near miss at the LIFE facility had been caused by carelessly ripping chunks of concrete loose, reducing them to powder because they were forced to move quickly. 

In only a few minutes, she'd scaled the side of the house and determined that the wood on that side was sturdy enough to last. If it hadn't been, she even thought that Sunny might be able to manage minor repairs. 

**Yes,** they agreed, and there was a smile in their voice. They liked being useful as much as Dawn did, and fixing things was definitely useful. She smiled, as well, caressing the woven golden band they left exposed around her wrist. Sunny was good.  **Dawn good, too.**

The wind was  _ not _ good. It was a cold, bitter breeze, and she longed for the jacket she'd left in her bag. Sunny slid down her arms, forming rust-colored ‘gloves’ that trailed up her elbows, fading to gold just as their skin crept under her sleeves.  _ Thank you, love, _ she sent, smiling softly.

**Dawn loves us?**

The question came as a shock, and one that had her stumbling right back off the edge of the roof. Where had  _ that _ come from? 

They were falling, but frankly, Scream was far more annoyed by the fact that they'd need to climb back up than anything else. Two golden tendrils skimmed back against the wood, catching the siding and tearing a chunk loose, but it let them adjust the angle so that they could land on all fours, Sunny cushioning the fall with a soft,  **Sorry.**

_ Nothing to apologize for, _ she replied, checking the chunk of wood that they'd ripped free.  _ Can we put this back?  _

A note of alarm sang through her veins, because there were running footsteps. Scream stood, fluidly, hoping against hope that they had not been seen. Sunny receded inside her skin, and then she was holding a chunk of siding in her hands, looking over at a man and his dog as they slowed to a walk. 

His eyes met hers, and for one disjointed moment, the entire world turned up on its side. They were looking at themselves looking at him, and he  _ saw _ , he  _ knew _ , he couldn't  _ not _ -

She ripped her eyes away from his, trying not to gasp because  _ what the actual fuck?  _

**We okay?** There was a hint of dizzy not-quite-panic in Sunny's voice, panic that she could feel. She looked, she saw, and the Eye sprawled behind him in all its ever-shifting glory. Her breath hitched, because she couldn't lean on Sunny to prove to her eyes that the Eye was a lie, he was here and he was looking at her and  _ oh, that was a question, wasn't it?  _

Dawn didn't hear it over the thundering in her ears, but Sunny had, bless their amorphous little heart. 

“Um - yes. Okay. We're fine.” She carefully evaded his eyes, even as he seemed determined to avoid hers. 

He looked up at the house, took a deep breath, and blew it out between his teeth. 

She was still holding the chunk of siding they'd ripped away. Her mind was filled with static, white noise that didn't make sense, her heart racing with panic, because he couldn't  _ know _ . 

**Eat him?**

The denial was firm, adamant, because that would probably make things worse, wouldn't it? She couldn't just eat everyone who became a problem, she  _ couldn't _ . Eddie would definitely not approve if she killed this man. 

His dog made a soft whine, behind him, drawing both of their attention.

Dawn loved dogs, but she knew better than to try and approach it - they could always smell Sunny on her, which tended not to go over very well, at least at first. 

“He yours?” She asked, nibbling her lower lip. The dog was a safe topic. 

The stranger shook himself out of whatever reverie he'd fallen into. “Yeah - yeah, his name’s Winston - I'm sorry, I have to ask, did you just … fall off of this building?” He gestured up at the house, apparently deciding he didn't want a change in subject. 

“... maybe?” That was probably not the right answer. Was there a correct answer, here?

**Eat him,** Sunny offered again. 

She winced, covering her face with her hands, because no, they weren't going to eat this man. They'd barely met him. They had no way of telling whether or not he was bad. 

And he was watching her, studying her movements, Sunny could sense the way that he was  _ looking _ at her. “Awfully long fall,” he offered. “You sure you're okay?”

“Fine, we're -  _ I'm _ fine. I am.” To prove it, she moved her hands away from her face, squaring her shoulders, and he had been looking at her face, and the world went sideways again. She saw her own eyes reflected in his, green irises with flames licking in the sclera. 

She realized she'd backed away because her spine was resting against the siding. He didn't know what to make of this, whatever was happening wasn't supposed to be happening, he wasn't supposed to be seeing anything because he hadn't  _ looked _ -

“But you  _ are _ looking!” She couldn't fully contain the outburst, covering her face with her hands once more. “You  _ saw, _ you can't  _ see, _ you're not supposed to  _ know!” _

He held onto his composure. Of course. Why should he be freaking out over this? “It's my job to  _ see things, _ okay?” There was tension in his voice, a hint of strain. “I don't know which part of this you’re trying to hide, but I would  _ really _ appreciate if you could just  _ calm down.” _

“O-okay.” 

Inhale, exhale, like the meditation Eddie tried to do. She wasn't any better at it than Eddie was, though, and her heartbeat was racing uncontrollably in her chest. 

**He knows,** Sunny pointed out helpfully.  **We eat him. He can't know.**

The stranger waited for her to gather herself, albeit not patiently. He circled the house, footsteps crunching on fallen leaves. The dog clung to his heels, throwing nervous glances back at them, because  _ it _ knew, too.

“Do you even  _ own _ a ladder?” He asked the question as he appeared on the other side of the house, hands tucked into his pockets. 

She looked in his direction, inspecting the dog. “What if we don't?” Stupid - there was a trembling in her voice. Showing vulnerability just invited people to take advantage, but she was out of her depth already. 

“Right, of  _ course _ you don't,” he said, and the motion in the corner of her sight was him scrubbing his hands down his face. “Look, this - ” he gestured at the chunk of wood in her hand, widening the gesture to include the house. “This isn't part of my job. I investigate  _ murders _ , okay, not - weird kids or - whatever.”

Oh. She blinked, blinked again, then stole a glance at his face. “So - you won't tell anybody?” Again, she felt her teeth tugging at her lower lip. 

She didn't want to eat him.

“Who would even believe me?” He stepped back. “I'm Will. I guess - I guess we're neighbors, now.”

Despite their misgivings, they let him go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's good to get a different point of view.
> 
> Good morning! It's midnight, that means it's technically morning!


	6. Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which denial is not just a river in Egypt.

Will was not terribly fond of new things. 

He liked routine, he liked predictably, he liked being able to plan ahead. 

Every time he'd ever tried to explain his gift in the past, he'd framed it in the light of mental illness. He wasn't  _ psychic _ or anything - he just had a stack of three neuroses in a trenchcoat, masquerading as something more than that. He'd turned a negative into a positive, that was all.

So, when his gift spontaneously developed an  _ exciting _ new facet? Yeah, he was upset, and justifiably so. He  _ wasn't _ psychic, so anything new about his gift was probably a fourth illness crowding in under the trenchcoat.

Naturally, then, the first person he told was Dr. Lecter, because whatever else the man was, he was also an accomplished psychiatrist. 

Will might not trust the profession - therapy didn't  _ work _ on him - but he could trust Dr. Lecter. At least, with his own issues. He was even fairly certain that this trust was in spite of - not because of - the way their friendship was growing. 

Everything about Hannibal was an intense, exciting sort of new. Which meant there wasn't any room in his life for his brain to be acting up: he was at capacity already. 

“What makes you so certain that your gift is the culprit, Will?” It also didn't hurt that the man's voice was smooth, as pleasant on the ears as his body was on the eyes. “If you are certain that she was the second party at the LIFE facility, is it not possible that this unusual phenomenon is in some way related to the girl herself, her - partner - or even some combination of these factors and your gift working in tandem?”

He hadn't actually considered that. He found himself pacing on the balcony. “No - or at least, not consciously, I don't think. She - they - were  _ both _ pretty unsettled by it, that's what I think.”

“Well, then. I believe this merits further investigation - don't you?” He seemed - eager, far too interested in studying this new specimen. That had been the first thing that had set Will off - his curiosity had never once been tempered by such mundane concerns as self-preservation. 

It was hard to be afraid when you were always the most dangerous person in the room.

Will tilted his head to the side. “And you're not even a bit concerned? If I’m right, this girl  _ actively _ participated in the battle.”

“If you're right, she acted under extreme provocation, against armed paramilitary forces,” Hannibal replied calmly. “Comparatively,  _ we _ should not be seen as a threat. Unless it is your intention to provoke her?”

They hadn't told Jack all the details, not yet. It was a delicate case, if it could be called that. 

Will shook his head. “I would rather not provoke  _ my neighbor, _ no.” His voice felt tight in his throat. “I get the feeling that wouldn't end well for me.”

“Then there should be no harm in a neighborly visit.”

* * *

The next day, shortly after noon, Will found himself standing outside the rather ominous-looking building, Hannibal at his side. 

“Charming place,” the man commented, stepping forward to rap his knuckles, firmly, yet politely, at the door.

A startled yelp sounded from just inside. 

“Coming,” the girl’s voice was only muffled slightly by the door, and Will could hear the lock click open.

She was barefoot, wearing a plain, black t-shirt and black scrubs. In her right hand, she was holding a cell phone, still tethered to a wall charger by its cable. She must have been sitting right next to the door - and no wonder. What little he could see of the inside of the house suggested it was still completely unfurnished.

Close up, and without whatever gift  _ she _ had obscuring them, her eyes were a soft green - Will caught that detail from the corner of his own eye, studiously avoiding even accidental contact. Her skin was rather pale, covered in a thick coat of freckles. 

It was clear she hadn't been anticipating company: her hair was a wild mane of curls. The color was natural, at least, copper as opposed to a dark, cherry red, and the untamed mass was nothing like the deliberate coils Freddie favored.

The comparison was entirely superficial; the similarities ended there. The sharp-witted reporter always had something clever to say - this girl seemed puzzled by the fact that people were even talking to her. 

“Um.” Her eyes fell on Will, then slid sideways to Hannibal. There was a question in her expression, one that came out half-formed: “Who?”

The mask had already been in place: Hannibal smiled, all charm, extending his hand. She looked at it as though he had a viper hiding in his sleeve, tentatively transferring the phone to her left hand before accepting his handshake. “I am Doctor Hannibal Lecter. I believe you've already met my friend Will?”

“Dawn,” she replied, and her gaze skittered away for a moment, her attention drifting inward. “Um. Yes. Can -  _ I _ \- help you?”

Even with Hannibal, she made a point of avoiding eye contact, and for one disorienting moment, Will realized that they were talking to someone who was likely even less socially adept than he was. He might not like the dance, but he at least knew the steps. 

“Will informs me that during your initial meeting, he had been terribly rude. I persuaded him to try to make amends. As such, we have brought a small housewarming gift for your family.”

That was right - the rescue mission. It dawned on Will that there was a very real chance they would be meeting Venom, here - or at least, their human partner. 

“... oh. Uhm.” She seemed taken aback, and once again, her attention turned inward. “Was - not necessary. But - thank you?” Her gaze focused on Hannibal, and he smiled, reaching into the bag at his side. 

He produced a smallish, leather-bound book. “I find that there are few things so practical as a recipe book, for a gift such as this. May it serve you well.”

It was clear he'd made a good choice. Her eyes widened, as she accepted the book, clutching it to her chest. “And - this is ours?” She stole a peek at Hannibal's face, which had broadened into a warm smile. 

Her gaze  _ still _ hadn’t quite reached his, stopping somewhere near his teeth.

“Yes, of course. I am not accustomed to requesting the return of gifts I have given freely; that would be  _ most _ impolite.”

He did so like his manners. 

She ducked her head, cheeks coloring, and it hit home how young this girl really was. She could easily be Abigail's age. “Thank you, sir - sirs.” 

“It was no trouble at all, my dear.”

Will preferred to melt into the background of any given social occasion - Hannibal had charm enough for both of them. Still, he felt the need to confirm the story. “I’m sorry for how I acted - I guess I just wasn't feeling myself.”

“We understand,” she murmured, stroking her fingertips absently across the leather. “Was - um, was there anything else?”

Will glanced over at Hannibal, uncertainly. 

“No - I believe that is everything, for now. It was good to meet you, Dawn.”

She nodded, looking down at the book. “You, too. Goodbye, Doctor Lecter. Goodbye, Will.”

“Good - ” The girl shut the door in their faces, still looking distant. “ - bye, then. Well. That could have gone much worse.” Hannibal turned to walk away. “Are you coming, Will?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's not intending to be rude, and she's also a fascinating specimen, so he'll tolerate that, for now.


	7. Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dawn is too young to remember how landline phones work.

Without any furniture, the house was kind of boring and more than a bit uncomfortable. In retrospect, this seemed like a critical flaw in the plan, and Leslie’s decision to stay at the hotel seemed all the smarter. 

Dawn didn't want to do that, though. Part of the reason she'd been okay with going on ahead like this was to prove that she could survive on the essentials that fit in the running bag. Her one concession was to use Eddie's card to order deliveries. He knew about it, he had approved it, and there was little point starving, in the likely event they couldn't catch enough game to sate their hunger. 

Food made up the greatest part of the family budget, now: each of them, even Bully, needed enough for two full-grown humans, give or take, and there was never a guarantee they'd trip over a person bad enough to eat. 

With three large pizza boxes polished off, even the bits of cheese peeled away from the cardboard, she could focus on other things. She was keeping in touch, sending a half-dozen text messages to check in on everyone. That done, however, Dawn quickly found herself bored. Even having a few small games on her phone now, there just wasn't much she  _ wanted _ to do. At least, not until Eddie arrived and it was time to unpack. 

It's important to scout outside of your home, to protect against threats. V had encouraged her exploration in San Francisco, and she had no doubt that, were they present, they would encourage it in this new place. 

There was a lot of ground to scout.

It turned out that her nearest neighbor was so far away that if someone was getting murdered in their house, she wouldn't know until she was halfway there. The wide open space was a far cry from apartment living, where everybody was stacked on top of one another, and she found she kind of liked that. 

Out here, in the middle of nowhere, she could just  _ be _ , with no care about whether or not she looked ‘normal.’ Even the Eye relented a bit - she spotted a few of the Watchers among the trees, but they had apparently decided not to bother her today. 

There was a long stretch of empty gravel road, between the new place and civilization, and at its sides, there was open wilderness, dotted with trees and small hollows where little animals burrowed. If it weren't for the power lines and the path, she could almost imagine herself as the first human to walk this way. 

Sunny’s reaction to every little detail had been to ask what it was they were seeing. 

They didn't manifest, not like V did, but it was still lovely to share this with them - she wasn't alone, after all. She might never be alone again - and honestly, she hoped that was the case. Solitude had left her feeling bitterly, miserably isolated in the past. 

With only her backpack for supplies, she decided to wander off the path, listening to the wind, the little rustling of startled animals through the trees. Red shot out, eagerly, before she was entirely aware that there was a rabbit nearby.  **_“Food!”_ **

She had never heard Sunny's voice, aloud - she hadn't fully realized they could manifest as V did, until their fangs snapped shut.

The rabbit squealed in fear, thrashing in Sunny's hold until she tasted the rush of hot, coppery blood on her Other's tongue. It brought a swell of foreign pleasure, a smile curling on her lips. Maybe they'd be all right out here, after all.

“We ate earlier,” she pointed out, even as they greedily devoured the rest of their meal. 

**Growing,** came the satisfied reply.  **Need more.** Which was fair; most of her childhood she'd gone hungry, and now she was short. Maybe there was something to that. 

They had miscalculated, in exploring without any real plan. 

Sunny noticed that the light was fading, first, but even knowing that, Dawn decided not to head home, not yet. The darkness wouldn't impact them too terribly, after all - Sunny's eyes could read all kinds of light, far beyond the limited spectrum a human could perceive.

And that was ignoring the talent that let them note that two potential hosts -  _ optimal and suboptimal _ \- were walking the long, empty stretch of gravel road, somewhere in front of them, moving slowly enough that she could catch up, if she tried. 

So, curious, she picked up her speed, lengthening her stride purposefully, until she saw them: a human and a dog. But there was something  _ off _ about the human - starting with the fact he was barefoot, actually. 

She was, too, but that was because she  _ liked _ to be able to feel the ground beneath her feet. Unlike this strange man, she had Sunny to protect her, wrapping her soles in supple, form-fitting ‘boots’ that supported her better than any real shoe could hope for, while still letting her feel and grip better than the best treads that humans could manufacture. 

He wasn't a stranger. She realized, as she approached, that this was “Will,” the man who had seen her slip. Why would he be out in the middle of the night? He had his dog, but it was starting to get chilly, and he didn't have a shirt, much less a coat -

\- and now, she was close enough to try and get his attention. “Will?”

There was no response, so she made up the rest of the distance. The dog - it was a different dog from Winston, and she wondered how many animals the man had - looked to her and whined, but he didn't stop her, at least, when she reached out to grab Will's arm. 

In retrospect, maybe he should have. 

The man jolted with surprise, whirling, off his balance. He lashed out, trying to hit her, and she caught his hand in a rush of red, the thick tendril absorbing the strike before twining around his wrist. That was - not good, not ideal - but she could deal with it later. She wasn't very large, nowhere near as strong as Eddie, but she still managed to keep him from falling over, at least. 

“Will? You okay?”

Emotions fought each other on his face, as he woke to find his arm trapped. The tendril of red had wrapped around him from wrist to elbow, holding him steady. As he regained his balance, she pulled away, though she kept his wrist in a tight hold. 

_ The soft crunch of gravel - a golden lioness prowling the darkness. A great stag in the shadows, bodies impaled on each prong of its great antlers.  _

_ And then he awakened, held still by the very killer he was supposed to catch.  _

Will settled on fear, as his emotion of choice, which was probably reasonable, but not particularly helpful right now. “What - ” His voice came out as a croak, his throat dry and scratchy. “Where am I? What am I doing here - what are  _ you _ doing here?” He tugged at his arm, trying to retrieve it, and she let him, deliberately withdrawing the tendril. He watched her do it, a mix of wariness and fascination in his eyes. 

“... dunno. We were scouting. Are you okay?” He hadn't answered the important question yet, and she was pretty sure she shouldn't let him go anyway, on account of his not even knowing where he was. 

There was a silence between them, and she let him have it. He needed to take stock of his situation, and then he needed to determine what all he was willing to tell her. She understood, but she decided to watch him, just to make sure he wasn't going to do anything stupid. He watched her, in turn, apparently to make sure she wasn't going to hurt him. Which was, again, probably reasonable. 

“No. No, I don't think I am,” he admitted, weary. “Do - do you have your phone? I seem to have - ” He swallowed, heavily. “I seem to have left mine at home.”

She nodded, simply, retrieving her phone from her pocket, unlocking it, and handing it over. 

Then, she remembered the photos. Silly, family things, but given it was  _ their _ family? She should probably not have given him unrestricted access but - well. He knew plenty, already. What was one more thing?

**No one knows,** Sunny reminded her.  **Should eat him. Safer.**

And they could. It was the middle of the night, on a dark, gravel road in the middle of nowhere, they could eat him and no one would be the wiser. If they did it right,  _ he _ wouldn't even know. 

_ He reeks, _ she replied, and it was true. Sweat, fear - and something sour, something that said his brain was poison. 

**Kill him, then.**

To his credit, he didn't look for anything. He just dialed a number. Her phone's background was still the default. If he didn't look after returning it, he wouldn't know. 

_ We won't hurt him. For now. _

She knelt, offering her palm to this new dog. If she and Will were going to keep meeting like this, it would be good to make sure his pets knew she wouldn't hurt him. 

The dog sniffed. 

He whined.

But he didn't retreat, which was good. “You're a good dog,” she murmured. “Looking after your human like you are. Good boy.” His tail wagged, subtly, and she shifted her hand, scratching gently behind his ears. “Yes, good.”

“Hannibal?” 

The phone proceeded to a recording, before the nice man interrupted it. She didn't realize that was a thing you could  _ do _ , but apparently it was. Ignoring her confusion, she listened, still ruffling the dog's fur. 

“Will - what is it?” He sounded groggy, not as crisp as he had yesterday. It had gotten late, a fact she was only now coming to appreciate. 

The man looked to her before responding. “I - I don't know. I woke up - I was sleepwalking, I think,” his voice dropped to a whisper, as though that would stop her from hearing. “The, uhm - the girl from yesterday is here, too.”

“Do you believe you are in danger?” The voice sharpened. Whatever he was to Will, Will was important to him. 

Dawn continued to murmur soft, sweet nothings, heaping praise on the dog. He deserved it, and it disguised her response. As far as Will knew, she couldn't hear that. He didn't necessarily know that she heard the concern in Doctor Lecter's voice, the fact the man genuinely considered her a threat. Will didn't necessarily know that Sunny had caught the trailing end of his dream. 

He was debating on his response, weighing it for several seconds as he watched her. His dog even gave her a kiss, tail wagging as his tongue swiped across her cheek, and she found herself giggling in spite of the implicit accusation. 

_ They thought she was dangerous. They were right.  _

Sunny reached out a dozen golden tendrils, tentatively, running them through the short, white fur. At first, the dog froze, fearing the unknown, but then he leaned into the contact, panting happily, one leg thumping against the ground. 

“No - no, I don't think so,” he said finally. 

And Doctor Lecter accepted him at his word. “See if you can find your way home - I will be there as quickly as I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday somewhere.
> 
> This has been A Week, next chapter will be Monday.
> 
> I swear I haven't forgotten about the rest of the family! It's just that very little actual time has passed so far.


	8. Hounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scream meets the dogs.

“Six?” she asked, sounding uncertain, as she paused on his front porch. He'd told her he would be fine, but apparently that wasn't enough for her peace of mind. She needed to be sure, or so she said, and so she planned to wait with him until Hannibal arrived. 

And now that they were  _ here _ , she got skittish. 

Well - to be fair, his little pack could be a bit intense, even if they liked a person. 

“Did you count them?”

He tried not to let himself be too curious about her abilities, but it was difficult. 

There was a marked difference between watching aliens battling against superheroes in downtown New York on the news - seeing the impossible combat on the television somehow made it feel less  _ real _ \- and actually meeting someone who looked human, but  _ wasn't _ . At least, not fully. 

She nodded, simply. 

“...huh.”

Turning on his porch light, he glanced toward her, trying to ignore the spectacle of her eyes. Copper lashes framed opalescent swirls, her attention firmly on the door. She flinched, slightly, as the light hit her eyes, and the swirling facets shifted, a kaleidoscope of glittering color  _ that let them see the world as it truly was.  _

He looked away. “You should know - Hannibal is a … he's a dear friend of mine.”

“You don't sound very sure about that,” she said, softly. “It's okay if you told him. He was ... nice.” He felt a stab of guilt, at her words, but he hadn't outright lied. He'd implied that he wouldn't tell anyone her secret, but he hadn't sworn not to. 

He was learning from the master, he supposed. “Right, well. He’s also … complicated. Don't be too surprised if you feel like you're under a microscope with him - he does that to everybody.” To say the least. 

She shrugged, taking a deep breath. Her attention shifted inward, and he got the sense that they were holding a conversation. Her brows knitted, and she shook her head. An argument, then. Hopefully, it  _ wasn't _ about whether or not to eat his brains - he needed them, after all.

“Can we meet them?” One of her hands came up, gesturing toward the door. The other hung near Jack's ears, almost disguising the thin tendrils of gold that had busied themselves among the little traitor's fur, focusing on the spots he liked to be scratched.

His tail thumped against the floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Dawn seemed to realize, belatedly, that Will had caught them again. “They -  _ we _ like animals,” she explained, sheepishly, and the tendrils withdrew, quickly replaced by her fingertips.

“... Is there much separation between you?” He asked, his hand reaching for the doorknob.

She shrugged again, glancing away. “Sometimes. Sometimes - less.”

The girl flinched as he opened the door, but for the first minute, his other dogs focused all of their attention on him. “They must love you,” she murmured, a smile on her face. 

Harley and Winston were the first two to break away from the pack, sniffing at her hands, her legs. She moved slowly, dropping to her knees, offering her hands for them to scent. 

Surprisingly, they seemed to accept her - he couldn't be sure why, other than the fact that Jack had gotten his scent all over -

\- something shifted beneath her skin, gold and rust colored. It emerged, slowly, forming into a smallish, blobby ‘hat.’ Long, golden ‘flaps’ hung over her ears, terminating in thin, braided, rust-colored tentacles. If he hadn't been paying attention - if he didn't know she'd been without a hat - he could have almost mistaken the creature for clothing, and it was only the fact that her thin ‘gloves’ and ‘boots’ matched the darker red that clued him in to the extent of coverage her partner had provided. 

_ Six points of contact - hands, knees, and feet. _

Although the mass of it appeared slick, her hair seemed undisturbed, no hint of slime anywhere to be seen - at least until Winston licked at the creature. She giggled, and a disproportionately large, fanged maw opened across the top of her head. Its -  _ their _ \- tongue was easily as long as Will's arm, and it returned the dog’s affection in kind. 

“- it's rabbit, no, we didn't know to save any -” She laughed, as those three crowded around her, offering ear scratches and belly rubs. 

Will tried to remind himself that the alien Other wasn't hostile - that the pearly eyes and matching fangs belonged to a  _ person, _ someone who didn't necessarily want to hurt him  _ or _ his dogs. Hell, the girl had felt more callous than the  _ \- oh. _ Their eyes met his, and he knew they were looking at him: he felt the strangest sense of vertigo, and for a moment, the world was wreathed in innumerable and alien colors, most of which he didn't have names for. 

**Hello, Will Graham.** There was a sense of an almost-threat, a protective instinct. The message was clear enough, but the young - nearly childish - voice felt the need to explain.  **Hurt her? Eat you.**

And then the contact ended. The creature was still looking at him, but their thoughts were walled off, shielded. He got a sense that even the girl hadn't actually ‘heard’ what was said - this was a conversation for them alone. The nameless colors faded a moment later, and he knew he was alone in his head once more. 

So, when her attention was elsewhere, he nodded once, to show he understood. 

Honestly. She liked dogs, and his dogs, at least, seemed to like her. She couldn't be all bad - at least, he didn't think so.

* * *

Hannibal found them still on the porch. The dogs were spread out between them, greedily soaking up any attention they could spare. 

Will was at least sitting upright, and he'd ducked inside long enough to get a shirt on and some slippers. Dawn had ended up laying down, sprawled on her back. They had honestly just been sharing the silence, and Will had to admit that there was something nice about that. 

The alien - ‘Sunny’ - proved endlessly versatile, and he learned that they had formed an insulating layer under every inch of her clothing that - apparently - kept her quite warm. 

“Doctor Lecter,” she said, as the car door shut and the man himself approached the porch. Her voice was clearly audible, ringing out against the darkness. “Forgive us if we don't get up. They're comfortable.”

Harley was laying across her chest, while Jack curled up at her side. Winston had curled up next to her head, still occasionally nuzzling the monstrous ‘hat.’ 

The other dogs had largely stayed with Will, and he got the sense that they were torn between fight and flight, presented with a bigger, more fearsome predator. Since neither was apparently an option, they trusted Will to protect them.

It was funny, since he wasn't even sure that he could protect  _ himself _ . 

_ Eat you, _ the little blob-monster had threatened. 

_ We need this, _ Venom’s shade rumbled against his ear.  _ I like it. _

“Well. If I had known you would be in such excellent company, perhaps I might have stayed home.” Hannibal's cultured voice sounded amused, startling Will from his momentary reverie. How did the man still manage to look flawless at three in the morning? 

Dawn nudged Harley, who grumbled, and remained stationary. “We thought you would want to know your friend is sick. Being a doctor, and all.”

What? 

“Oh?” Hannibal asked, sounding about as surprised as he ever did - which was to say, not at all. “Do you know what manner of illness it is, then?”

She shrugged, lifting her shoulders against the wood. “Please move?” She nudged Harley again, unwilling to force the issue. If he didn't know what she was capable of, Will might even think she was actually trapped, but the memory of crimson immobilizing his arm was a bit too fresh.

The dog reluctantly clambered off of her, and she sat up, petting Jack's ears gently. “His brain - it smells sour, like it wouldn't - um. Like he's sick. In his brain.”

_ Like it wouldn't taste good, _ Venom’s shade supplied. He remembered the crunch of bone, the rush of pleasure, and shuddered.

He  _ also _ remembered Hannibal inhaling, scenting him. He frowned, looking to the older man - had he known?  _ Could _ he have known? 

“I had suspected as much,” Hannibal confessed. “But I had no proof. Do you?”

Will looked to Dawn, and he realized that ‘Sunny’ had withdrawn into her skin, other than the rust-colored patches on her forearms and legs, where its essence was imitating inert clothing. The girl was watching Hannibal with the wary expression of a dog who'd been beaten before, and would bite the next human who tried their luck. 

_ What did she know? _

“Know what sick smells like, Doctor Lecter.” She sounded - centered, grounded in reality in a way Will had yet to hear from her, and her eyes had become multifaceted gems once more. “Your friend is sick. You are a doctor. You should make sure he gets help.”

Dawn stood, her movements fluid, and Will remembered the lioness that had prowled his dreams. Her eyes found Hannibal's, and there was a challenge written in her expression. Will had clearly not managed enough sleep. His dreams were intruding on reality, and he thought he saw a great stag in the darkness behind Hannibal, answering that challenge. 

He pressed his palms to his face, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. The only animals here were his dogs. 

“So - if I  _ am _ sick, should I get someone to look at my brain?”

There was a moment of silence that stretched far too long, before Hannibal smiled, the tension fading so completely that Will almost could have believed that he'd imagined it. “Yes, I believe that would be for the best. Do you think you will be all right for a few minutes, Will? I would like to drive Dawn back to her home - it is the least I can do.”

“Yeah - yeah, I'll manage. I was thinking of trying to get back to sleep - it can wait a little bit. Will you be back over tonight?” He  _ was _ tired, but something about this interaction didn't feel right, something other than the obvious. Where had all this hostility come from? 

Hannibal looked to Dawn. “Yes. I will return as soon as I am able.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I'm sleeping about as well as Will, lately. 
> 
> Next chapter is Wednesday.


	9. Conversational

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the only winning move is not to play.

**Bad man,** Sunny grumbled, their voice low. They didn't want to ride in Hannibal's car, and they certainly didn't want his friendship.

It was difficult to remember that Hannibal couldn't hear their words. He didn't know how much she knew - this game was rapidly becoming exhausting. She didn't know how Will managed, honestly. 

“I want to thank you, for helping Will tonight.” There was a sense of formality to the words, and he remained detached. Cold.

Dawn glanced over, from the passenger's seat, trailing a gloved finger against the seatbelt. No - best not to start anything here. She'd seen enough exploding cars on TV to have a healthy respect for moving vehicles, even if she was fairly certain that the dramatic fireballs in the movies were exaggerated. “Welcome.”

The silence didn't last very long. He was better at this than she was, and he thought he knew all the moves in this game. If not for Sunny, he'd even be right about that. 

“I do find it interesting, though,” he began. His tone implied that it was just idle curiosity, but she was learning there was nothing idle about this man. “Most women would avoid that kind of situation. They would fear for their own safety - they certainly wouldn't try to approach a strange man. Especially not in the middle of the night, hm?” 

There was a tone people used, Dawn had found, when they were trying to ask for information without just asking. She had never liked being indirect. Lying might be necessary, but the art of it mostly just made her want to bite someone. 

“What did he tell you? About me?” It was a relatively short trip - she could have made the distance quickly enough on foot.

This ‘courtesy’ was about information. 

He was looking at her, as he pulled into the driveway. “You're a very direct young woman, aren't you?” He smiled, though, pleasantly. “He told me only that you had an unusual gift.”

**Liar,** Sunny growled. 

Dawn kept her gaze on the window, for now.  _ Of course he is.  _

“Don't have much reason to be afraid,” she murmured. Which was true. Her instinctive panic aside, there were very few things that could truly harm Scream. “Are you Will Graham's friend?  _ Really?” _

He seemed thoughtful, looking up at her house, considering the question. He didn't know the answer, and for once, she got the sense he was going to be honest. “I would like to be,” he said, finally. 

“Then make sure he gets help. He's sick. He won't seek help, but he trusts you, because  _ he _ is a friend to  _ you.”  _ She unbuckled her seatbelt, opening the door. “Good night, Doctor Lecter.”

It was several long moments before his car pulled away.

* * *

She took a shower, and while Sunny set to combing through her hair, she checked her text messages. It would worry everyone if they didn't keep in touch, after all.

Leslie was excited about the hotel pool, and not just because of the half-dressed ‘hotties.’ She also figured they should ask Eddie about hiring an exterminator, or at least calling animal control. ‘Can we get rabies?’ Dawn didn't know. Sunny didn't know what rabies  _ was _ . 

Anne was happy to hear they'd made it all right, though she still seemed worried about the idea that Dawn was all alone.

It was sweet of her, even if it was unnecessary. 

Dan had sent her several links, mostly reading materials about schizophrenia and various schizoaffective disorders, so she thanked him and bookmarked the sites for later. 

He'd understood why she didn't want to try medication - she was terrified of hurting Sunny. At the same time, he'd sworn an oath to do no harm, even by inaction. The compromise was that, if he could help her learn about the kinds of illnesses that matched her symptoms, she could help herself. It did help: Dawn was less afraid, just knowing that the things she saw and heard could be explained. 

Plus, it helped Sunny learn about what each part of the brain was supposed to look like. Humans were supposed to have smallish gaps in their brains. Dawn’s had been larger than they should be; that wasn't just a discrepancy between Eddie's brain and her own. 

Dan had been amazed to learn that they could actually make her brain grow into a more normal shape, at least until she pointed out that they were pretty confident that Sunny could fix nearly anything short of death. Hadn't V repaired Eddie's insides? They already knew that Klyntar were amazing surgeons: V barely even left a scar where Eddie had been practically cut in half. 

He still called it miraculous, though, speaking  _ as _ a surgeon. Sunny basked in the praise. 

Mrs. Chen had an old flip phone, so she hated holding long conversations that way. Dawn had sent a text saying that she’d made it safely and she would write as soon as she could. The response was short, but it still warmed her heart: ‘Good. Eat a vegetable!!’

She made a note to order at least one pizza with vegetables on it - Mrs. Chen had been appalled by Eddie's meat and potatoes diet. 

Eddie was making good time. It would be a couple more days, probably, because even if V didn't need to sleep,  _ he _ did. V had been playfully upset that Eddie didn't trust them to drive. There was something they weren't saying, either of them, but she figured they'd bring it up in their own time. 

Messages sent and hair as dry as it was getting, she laid down in the upstairs bedroom. There was no bed yet, but a blanket and a pillow was more than enough, for her. 

Staring up at the ceiling, her eyes danced with the swirling vision of tendrils sprawling across the paint. She could imagine it was something foreign, even magical, caressing their reality, without the fear that might have accompanied such a thing really happening: Sunny confirmed that the visions were no more than the product of the faulty connections in her brain. That done, they seemed content to view the hallucinations like waking dreams, interesting but harmless. 

“I do love you,” she murmured. “Not - not the same way Eddie does V, but - I would be lost, without you.”

They had formed into a small, blobby shape that approximated a kitten - or perhaps a cub. Their proportions were youthful, but they were still the size of a full-grown housecat. 

**Never say the words,** they replied, softly, nuzzling into her hand as she ran her fingers against their skull. 

She shrugged, the blanket rustling as she moved. “I - never used to hear the words,” she explained, wearily. “Mother and Father - they didn't want  _ me _ . They wanted someone flawless, but I came out broken. The more I tried, the less I succeeded.”

**You learn,** they rumbled, sandpaper tongue wrapping around her entire wrist in a loving caress.  **I love Dawn. We love us.**

She smiled, softly. “We  _ do _ love us, and I love you.” Her free hand came up to gently poke the nose they'd formed. “So - what do we know about our neighbor and his friend, hm? I  _ know _ you got more than I did.”

**They want to have sex,** came the cheerful reply. 

Dawn snorted. “Everybody wants to have sex.”

**You don't,** they pointed out.  **They want to sex each other.**

“You think so?”

They sent her an array of dizzying memories, insights plucked from Will's own mind. There was a healthy respect, a sense of intimacy. A large, masculine hand closing over his, the sharp inhale just near his neck. 

Eugh. She tore her mind away from  _ those _ memories, quickly. There were more important things in life than sex. 

His gift - the dizzy sense of being someone else, of acting as they acted, doing what they did. He had mimicked Venom, once. He'd witnessed the events at the LIFE Facility - piecemeal, but he had. And he'd seen Hannibal’s kitchen. 

She put that last one aside, for now. Honestly, she should probably talk to Eddie before deciding on whether or not to kill these people. He was a better judge of that. 

**Why not breed?**

The question came from left field, and if she had been standing, she might have lost her balance again. At least she could pick apart what they meant to say: why wasn't she interested in the act. 

“I dunno,” she admitted, letting them sidetrack her for now. “I always figured it was just another way I was broken. Most people are interested in sex, and I'm not. I don't want to be. There's sickness, and it’s gross, and … I don't think I'd be a good mother.” She scratched the spot at the base of their ‘skull,’ fondly. “Humans are fragile. We need a lot of upkeep, and I'm not very nurturing.”

They grinned, showing all their fangs.  **Humans breakable. Is okay. We fix.**

“Thank you.” She couldn't help but smile in return. “But - yeah. Eddie says there's a name for it - asexuality, it's not common, but it's not  _ broken _ , either.”

He'd been particularly upset to hear her reasoning - it hit too close to home.  _ That's gay, _ the bullies said, and it took him years to accept that it was okay if he liked to have sex with men as much as women. 

Dawn wanted to go back and eat those bullies.

There was a silence, companionable, and she began to drift off.

**Is that why …?** They showed her a vision of the new ID, highlighting the changed name. Dawn A.  _ Brock _ , not  _ Diego _ . Never again.  **Is why your name important? Because - old family, bad parents, they are bad?** They'd done incredibly well, learning how to speak, given that her own brain was filled with faulty connections for what things were called. She suspected it was V's help, honestly. 

At her sleepy confirmation, they pressed on.  **Why not kill?** The image, with intrusive yearning tinged red around the edges: her parents, bodies lying cold, limbs twisted, but otherwise unmarked.

“We're too close,” she replied, softly. “They're - bad - the kind of bad we'd eat, yes. But we're … not impartial. And it would be too obvious that  _ we _ killed them.”

They drew up the image of Will Graham.  _ “I investigate murders,” _ he had said. He was already investigating them, he'd seen the LIFE Facility. They got the sense that he hadn't reported them, yet, that he maybe didn't even want to report them, but what would happen if he  _ did? _ A regular criminal would just be imprisoned, but they  _ weren't _ just any criminal. 

She shuddered, because she could imagine it. Locked away again, observed, and the government wouldn't take chances. They'd be separated, dissected, studied. 

**_Never,_ ** they thought in unison.  **_Won't allow it._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal will have to do better than that, it seems.


	10. Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people do their jobs. Or, at least, try.

He supposed it was too much to ask, that his illness clear up overnight. 

Will had never much cared for medicine in general. Oh, he took aspirin for the headaches, and when he got sick, he took the full course of antibiotics, as prescribed. He was happy enough to take the medicine that was supposed to clear up the encephalitis. 

But they insisted on keeping him for a couple of days. He was dehydrated from the fever, they said, and that was fair enough. 

Then, predictably, the questions started. When was the last time he'd gotten a full night's sleep? Would he say he felt particularly anxious in his day-to-day life? How often did he find himself feeling this irrational anger? 

Will found himself standing on the balcony in Hannibal's office, the day after he'd been released from the hospital. Maybe the reason he’d grown to like - even trust - Doctor Lecter was the fact that the man didn't seem all that interested in drugging the  _ weird _ out of him. He was the first therapist Will had ever met who didn't immediately suggest they try medication for the stack of neuroses that made up so much of Will's personality, and actually respected a hard ‘no.’

“Thanks for feeding the dogs for me,” he said, looking over the top of the book he'd been idly flipping through. 

It didn't hurt that Hannibal had a smile that warmed his soul. “Think nothing of it. After all, if not for my insistence, you would not have been locked away, hm?” There was humor in his eyes - Will had spent a good portion of the last two days complaining about every single indignity the hospital had heaped on him.

“If not for Dawn,  _ would _ you have insisted?”

She had said that his brain ‘smelled’ sick. Maybe she was really referring to one of her partner's other senses - there seemed to be at least a couple that did not have human analogues - but if not, wouldn't Hannibal have smelled it, too? Hannibal, who knew when his teacher had cancer, who could smell Will's ‘obnoxious’ aftershave from outside the room?

There was a pause. “You have never trusted medicine,” he pointed out. “And, for my part, I had only an … educated guess. My sense of smell is excellent, but I would hardly claim to be superhuman.”

“So you still agree that she is the other killer?” He had sort of hoped that the things he had seen were all hallucinations. It would have been much easier, especially now.

Hannibal nodded. “Even if I had not seen the physical signs of her - ah - cohabitation, shall we say? She is an unusual young woman.”

He respected her. He didn't just want to study this kid - he respected her.

God help her.

“I owe her,” he said. “I'm supposed to figure out who killed those people, but now that I know? I owe her my life, or at least a chunk of my sanity.” He snapped the book closed, sighing. It wasn't the first time his personal  _ situation _ had compromised an investigation. 

Hannibal sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “You, yourself, noted that she had been pushed. If her family had not been in danger, she would not have killed those men.”

“It doesn't add up, though.” He frowned, putting the book back in its place. “Venom’s hunger was all-consuming. Hers - isn't. I get the impression she eats more than a human her size would, but … eight months ago, Venom wouldn't have left those bodies intact. Whatever drove them to hunt heads, she doesn't have that problem.”

Manicured fingertips tapped against Hannibal's desk, as the man himself considered. “Perhaps they found an alternative solution? Venom's trail went cold - they stopped killing altogether - the night you interrupted their hunt.”

“What, so they're scared of me?” He found that idea laughable. 

Hannibal smiled, wryly. “Formidable as you may be, it seems more likely that they fear the consequences of their actions. These people lead  _ human _ lives, lives which would very much be disrupted by deep investigation into their - surreptitious activities.”

“So … what, do I just let them keep living those lives? Do I turn a blind eye to their kills?” Like he'd done so far for the Ripper?

A gentle shrug. “I would not presume to tell you what to do, not in this matter. I would, however, remind you what happened the last time someone  _ disrupted _ that family.”

“You think they'll resist arrest.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think that, even if they allowed themselves to be captured, no jail on Earth could hold them. I may not have your gift, Will, but I  _ do _ have  _ eyes _ .” Will remembered the twisted steel, particularly - a single puncture, and then enough applied force to make the metal  _ scream _ . 

“You … might have a point, about that,” he admitted. 

Hannibal smiled. “As to what you can do?” There was an almost playful glint to his eyes. “You have a particular gift for getting close to killers, Will. Perhaps if you make an effort to befriend this girl, you can get her to reveal her secrets to you.”

“Or end up as her next victim,” he pointed out, and he got the sense that they weren't  _ really _ talking about Dawn anymore. 

The smile grew into a broad grin. “I'd like to believe that you're more clever than that, Will.”

* * *

As it turned out, it was no longer his call.

The woman was platinum blonde - dyed - with steel-gray eyes, and a businesslike demeanor. She wore a no-nonsense suit, without even a trace of femininity, and her hands were thoroughly calloused and  _ stained red _ .

No - he blinked - that last was merely a hallucination. They were getting less frequent, at least, but he had the sense that those cryptic visions were meant to tell him something. 

If he  _ listened _ , he could hear her voice. Not the one she used to introduce herself - Agent Winters, S.H.I.E.L.D. - but a voice that whispered at the back of her mind, a yearning for redemption despite the odds:  _ I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out.  _

_ Can you? _ A strange man's voice challenged, in reply.  **_Can_ ** _ you wipe out so much red? _

Apparently, Will wasn't quite back to his old self just yet. Go figure. 

“After the battle of New York, we have been on the lookout for any evidence of other potentially hostile alien life forms,” she was explaining with a professional calm. “Venom, and the other killers identified at the LIFE Facility, exhibit several abilities and multiple physical characteristics that suggest unusual, likely extraterrestrial origins.”

Jack didn't look particularly impressed by this. “In English, please?”

Will rubbed at his temples, remembering every gruesome detail of the LIFE Facility. It had been a war zone, and trying to contain these  _ things _ , an act of war. 

“These murders have been officially reclassified under the jurisdiction of S.H.I.E.L.D.” Out came a polite smile. “Your cooperation will be appreciated, but is ultimately not required.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, that stealth tag is relevant now.


	11. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will has _always_ known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: the first half of this chapter is horrifying hallucination time, and the latter half apparently gets kinda steamy. Also there's gore. It's messy. 
> 
> You've been warned!

It was really, really hard to focus on what “Agent Winters” - he didn't believe for a second that was her name - was saying. 

“So, what is it you do here again, remind me?” He was absolutely certain that the spider dangling between them was a hallucination: the distinctive hourglass pattern should be cause to at least deal with it before they conducted their interview. She didn't seem to see it, which suggested that it wasn't there. 

He blinked, blinked again, focusing on her and yet desperately trying to avoid her gaze, because he did not need one more murderer in his head, not today, thanks. 

“Profiler,” he managed. “Sorry, I uh - I've been sick.” The spider slowly descended to land on the desk between them. “I - review the evidence, and then I help construct a profile of what kind of person we're hunting.”

She raised an eyebrow: the spider clicked its mandibles in front of him, lunging menacingly, and he scooted back abruptly. “Something wrong?”

“No - no, I - ” The spider started to swell up, bloating obscenely. “I'm sorry, what were we talking about?”

She just kind of looked at him. He was staring at a space that he was certain looked empty to her, because holy shit, the spider had begun to hatch, like some kind of wildly deformed egg. “Why don't you tell me what you know about the incident at the LIFE Facility, and I'll get out of your hair.”

“Well, uh - by - by the pattern of the kills, there were three unique individuals - ” The spider shuddered, spilling open, and hundreds of the things exploded from its corpse. “I've got to go - I'm sorry - !”

Spiders were crawling on his skin, in his clothes, inside his mind - he ducked into the restroom, splashing water on his face. That wasn't enough, so he filled the sink and submerged his face for a long moment, blowing bubbles. When he emerged, the sensation of tiny legs crawling on his skin had faded some, at least. 

It didn't help much, but he wiped his face with about three paper towels too many, staring the hollow-eyed asshole in the mirror down. 

“Will?” Jack's voice was almost hesitant, sounding from the doorway. “I know you've been sick. I'll understand if you can't look yet.” Jack, showing respect for his limits? He must really look like shit. “The Ripper struck again. It's Freddie Lounds.”

* * *

In the end, he only managed to look at the photos of the kill. They didn't tell him anything more than he'd already known, not really. 

It felt like a cop-out, but he  _ was _ still recovering, and it wasn't like he was going to be much help. He understood now - things were becoming clearer, even as his sanity seemed determined to falter. Wasn't this medication supposed to fix him?

“Definitely him,” Will muttered. “But this isn't where he killed her, just where he wrote the poem. It's a warning, a - a cautionary tale.” Will felt like he was actually losing it - he wanted to laugh at everything and nothing alike.  _ “She saw the truth, and it blinded her to the danger.” _

Will was playing with fire, and he knew it, he knew he couldn't put this confrontation off any longer. “Whatever she knew, that's what got her killed.”

And the sick, depraved part of him that had come to enjoy looking? That part of him found the carnage  _ beautiful _ . 

He looked up at Jack, feeling sick down to his very soul. “I - think I need to go.”

“Take as long as you need. I won't - I won't force you, Will.” Jack inhaled, exhaled, and Will knew, he knew that Jack was terrified that the Ripper would steal Will from him, that Will would end up like Miriam Lass, dead or worse. So he wouldn't push, because he didn't realize that the worst had already happened. “Just let me know when you're ready to work.”

* * *

“Will, what is - Will?”

He was red-eyed, he still looked like shit, he knew that. But God, he just wanted this out in the open. He just wanted to be honest, because he couldn't handle the alternative anymore.

“Jack - Jack asked me to look. The Ripper's killed again,” he said, babbling. “But you already knew that, didn't you.”

Hannibal tilted his head, watching him, and every mask fell away. Will was pinned with the icy stare of a horrifyingly prolific serial killer. “Go on,” he said, quietly, neither confirming, nor denying.

“You're the Ripper,” he said, “And I don't care.”

Surprise melted into a warm, pleased smile. “How long have you known?"

“From - from the first. Your first imitation - you showed me what I'd missed, and - I didn't tell Jack, it was spite.” He sat down, heavily. “At first. And then I kept telling myself that I'd turn you in, but - ” He looked up, as Hannibal stood. “ - I think I'm  _ interested _ in you,” he admitted, voice soft. 

Hannibal crossed the space between them, circling the chair. “I have a confession of my own,” he murmured, and Will relished the sound of him, so close. A firm hand tangled in his hair, forcefully pulling his head back, and Will felt his pulse jump in his throat. He half-expected a knife against his neck, and yet he didn't actually care. “I'm interested in you, as well.”

Firm lips crushed his own, and Will gasped against Hannibal's mouth, letting him do this. Partly, he imagined it was shock. 

Mostly, it was the rush of electric heat sparking through his body, before pooling low in his gut. He felt - dizzy, and not just because he needed to actually breathe soon. Hannibal smiled against his lips, pulling back and leaving him gasping. He took only a moment to catch his breath, before reaching up, catching the lapels of the stupidly fancy suit Hannibal insisted on wearing and dragging him down for another kiss, just as desperately hungry as the first. 

This time, when they broke away, he  _ looked _ , and he was drowning in the deep crimson that the older man's eyes showed in just the right light. “I - I thought it was beautiful. That's - that's fucked up, isn't it?”

“Likely,” Hannibal smiled. “I'm afraid that I am not an impartial judge.”

There was a yearning, a hunger, and something about Will filled that emptiness in him. It's good to be seen, to be  _ known _ . His gift wasn't the only reason he could empathize with  _ that _ . After all, it was Hannibal - not Alana, not Chilton, not any of the half-dozen shrinks Will had been to in his youth -  _ Hannibal _ was the only one who could look into every depraved corner of Will's soul without flinching. His fingers remained tangled in Will's hair, and Will finally understood what both of them needed.

“I can see you,” he murmured, reaching up to touch his face. “All of you, even the darkest parts, and you are  _ beautiful _ to me.”

Hannibal's response probably broke every code of ethics his profession had, quickly bringing Will to his knees and  _ keeping _ him there, a slave to his own desire. It was the best sex that Will had experienced, although that might have something to do with how rare such an event actually  _ was _ . 


	12. Suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which cordial relations are established.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the NEXT two chapters that I'm actually excited for, this one is just really, _really_ long.

Natasha Romanov was her favorite mask, but in the end, it was just a mask, and right now was a particularly bad time to be seen as the Black Widow. Every piece of her cover had been blown, and every bit of red in her ledger was now a matter of public record. 

The funny thing was, she still believed in what S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to be. She still believed she'd made the right call. For once in her life, she was pretty sure she was on the right side of history, and she'd decided that she didn't want to fuck that up right away. She'd grown to like her little dysfunctional band of superpowered idiots (plus Clint, who wasn't really superpowered, and Tony, who was probably not technically an idiot). 

The Avengers would figure things out between them - the thing that made them heroes, after all, was that when it mattered, they would be there, Accords or no.

Until the next crisis came along, though, it was time for the Widow to lay low. She needed to rebuild her cover and dodge the spotlight for a few months, a few years - however long it took for Agent Romanov to no longer be in  _ quite _ so much hot water. 

So, for now, she was ‘Agent Winters.’ Hopefully Steve's old war buddy didn't take offense to that, but she’d sort of figured that the man wanted to forget everything about the Winter Soldier. He wanted to just be Bucky, for a bit, figure out who that even was, and she couldn't find it in herself to blame him.

Privately, there were times when the Widow wondered if, with all her masks cast aside, there was even a face underneath. That was a pretty pointless question, though. No one needed the lost little Russian girl she'd once been, least of all the Widow, herself. 

It was still  _ slightly _ less pointless than listening to the makeout session going on in her earpiece. She kept an ear trained on it, just in case they actually mentioned something useful, but nothing they'd said this far had even remotely been relevant to her current mission. She might throw Jack a bone, once she had what she needed - it was pretty clear he was in over his head with this Ripper case, particularly since his miracle profiler was a) literally in the middle of some kind of psychotic break, and b) actively, right now, having sex with the killer. 

One serial killer, however prolific, was simply not a matter of planetary security. Doctor Hannibal Lecter wasn't her target: she was here to track down the selfsame alien monstrosities that  _ he _ was supposed to have been assisting in hunting. 

The footage from the Life Facility had been clear enough. She had their names, she had a rough estimate of their abilities. 

What she still needed was an approach. 

The Red Room had left her far more than human. She might even be able to kill these things on her own, but the mission wasn't necessarily an assassination: they needed to know what the aliens were actually doing, now that LIFE wasn't actively antagonizing them. Her mission was to learn if they even were a threat to the world at large, or if - like the Hulk, for example - they could be an asset. 

Given that they had apparently chosen to lay low for a full year, the question was: were they willing to play by the rules, or were they merely waiting for something? 

So, the Widow needed inside their heads, and for that, she needed Will Graham.

His file had been far more interesting than he’d tried to make it sound. He wasn't technically FBI, for all that he worked with them: he'd failed the psych eval in spectacular fashion, and she was pretty sure he'd actually been hallucinating during their interview. On the other hand, by every account except his own, the man was a gifted empath.

She suspected he was some kind of mutant, but there wasn't exactly a test for that, not yet, anyway. Maybe that was why he'd been upset by her presence - she might not be a serial killer in the traditional sense, but she had blood on her hands that would never come out. 

In any case, she did need him, and it looked like he needed the Chesapeake Ripper. So yeah, the Widow might throw Jack Crawford a bone, or she might throw him under the bus. It would have to depend on how the rest of the mission went.

For now, she pulled the earpiece off. This was less than useless. She checked the trackers on her laptop, set the program to wake her when they left the office - just in case - and laid down for a nap. 

The Widow had games of her own to play. 

* * *

It had started as a few idle visits. 

At first, she'd thought they were actually dreams, a lingering memory of the altogether disappointing “master manipulator” come to haunt her like a bad case of food poisoning. 

But the conversations had been weirdly cordial. 

Loki had been  _ relieved _ to get thrown in jail - it had been his secret ace in the hole, an escape from a power so vast it had forced him to bend the knee. He was a favored son of Asgard; no Asgardian prison would truly be cruel to him, especially given how often he found himself confined to them over his millennia of life. If his ill-conceived, head-on assault had actually  _ worked _ , he'd have gained favor for it. 

If it hadn't - and he'd been sincerely hoping it wouldn't - he'd spend a few decades, even a few centuries in a cell. Time meant less to him than it would a mortal. In the interim, he'd be more-or-less safe until his boss was dealt with. 

But prison was boring, and Loki could not abide boredom for long. 

It was their third meeting when the Widow -  _ finally _ \- fully comprehended that she was dreaming. Loki had arrived in a woman's body, tall, dark, and imposing - exactly how she'd looked before, but with a few more curves. It had thrown the Widow for only a moment, before she decided that shared lucid dreaming was far more interesting than which gender the trickster goddess chose to present herself as.

She had allowed herself to play with it, to turn the world up on end. When was the last time she'd been able to cut loose and just have  _ fun? _

But Loki had seemed oddly vulnerable, that night. The feminine aspect was a part of herself she was rarely allowed to show: there were just days when her soul didn't fit into a male body, and she had the power to fix it.

Except, people had a way of judging those who were different, and Lady Loki earned even less trust from her peers than Lord Loki did. 

The Widow understood Loki better than most. 

She knew what it was to serve a master with no choice in the matter. She knew what it was to be an outsider in a group she’d committed herself to completely. Hell, the only other Avenger who actually trusted her fully was Clint, and he had earned the full measure of her trust, in turn. She understood Loki, and now, there was little harm in getting to know him - or  _ her _ .

So, the Widow made a point of not reacting any differently, and Loki showed up in a feminine shape almost as often as a masculine one. In turn, the Widow let herself be Nat - just Nat, the mask that fit closest to her skin. 

Loki wasn't in prison anymore. By now, that had become abundantly clear, though they didn’t really talk about it.

One night, she'd arrived in Nat's dreams, a howling nightmare of raw fury. Nat had let her wear herself down, and the goddess had ended up sobbing into the Widow's shoulder. Her mother had been murdered, and she was supposed to play nicely with her fool brother who'd allowed it to happen. She’d raged against her brother’s stupid, fragile, human woman, she’d spat curses on the dark world, and then the portals had started ripping across Earth, and for a while, they'd both been too busy to meet.

Nat found she missed those visits. She had welcomed their return, but then, Loki hadn't been angry any longer - only depressed.

Every night until Loki's melancholy had passed, the Widow woke to a wet shoulder. It was bizarre to realize, but the much, much older goddess had needed a place to be herself. She’d likely needed that kind of relief for a long, long time. 

Nat was okay with providing that kind of comfort. Beneath that paper-thin mask of cordiality, the Widow was touched by Loki's trust. She would strive not to break it. 

Since being released from prison, Loki almost always presented in the feminine. Whatever game she was playing, she was forced to wear a masculine skin exclusively, and she'd confessed already that such a static shape  _ itched _ after a while. 

It didn't really matter to the Widow, either way.

“Long day, little spider?” Lady Loki settled on the side of the bed, running her fingers through Nat's hair. In the dream, it shifted to the red curls they both preferred. 

She sat upright, slowly - at least, her dream-self did. “Mm, a bit. How's Asgard?”

“Boring, I'm afraid. Grape?” She dangled a bunch of the small fruits above Nat, playfully, chuckling when the Widow snatched them effortlessly. Even if it did nothing to actually sustain her, the food in their shared dreams always tasted lovely. 

She smiled, savoring the treat. “There's something I'd like your insight on, if you're willing to help. Nothing personal, of course.”

“I'm listening,” Loki murmured, tilting her head to the side. 

Nat focused, and the hotel TV jumped to life, looking like one of Stark's holograms. “A space shuttle returned to earth about a year ago, carrying several of these creatures on board. Do you know anything about them?”

The image focused on the ever-shifting, always-twisting mass of dark ooze. In the recording, it was held within a glass container. Nat had to hack the LIFE Foundation’s central database for those videos: they'd never been released, and for good reason. 

“ _ That _ is a Klyntar,” Loki’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “They're a bit of a galactic menace - little more than pests individually, the swarm can strip a planet of life rather quickly.” 

She reached out a hand, twisting it slightly. Illusory, greenish flames licked at the container in the dream, and the blob-monster writhed in apparent agony. “They're weak to fire, lightning, and a rather small range of sounds. If your planet has an infestation, it's generally best to wipe them out immediately. They're parasites, and they adapt to their surroundings by inhabiting the bodies of whatever living creatures are native to the area, dominating their will.”

“Hnh.” Nat considered that, wiping away the charred husk and replacing it with the footage from the LIFE Facility. 

The three imprisoned hosts had all welcomed their parasites back - even the dog seemed happier for the creature's presence, its tail wagging slightly before the greenish goop sank under its fur. 

They all displayed unique abilities: advanced camouflage, forming weapons from their skin, spitting acid - the gold one even seemed resistant to the sonic weaponry the LIFE Foundation employed against her. At least, Nat assumed it was a woman; the symbiotes seemed to adopt the secondary sex characteristics of their hosts, and its first host  _ was _ a young woman. 

There was older footage, too - two of these creatures, enormous, humanoid beasts, fighting. The gray one ripped the darker beast’s essence away, leaving Eddie Brock, weak and vulnerable, behind. And the man reached for it, letting it merge with him so that they could continue the fight. 

“Is it possible they've learned to - I don't know, cooperate with their hosts, maybe? That doesn't look like a man who's being coerced.”

Loki waved her hand, drawing on Nat's memory to replay the footage, adjusting the angle, reviewing the expressions. “There's some kind of mutiny here, in this older footage. That - doesn't generally happen. The swarm is a hive mind. Even far-flung scouts like these should still have some link to one another.”

“Why would that change, then?” Nat frowned. Loki sifted through the relevant footage, pulling up one curious clip. The black goo-monster had crawled up onto the platform, sinking into Eddie's skin and healing him from what should have been a fatal wound. Nat reached out, pausing the clip, rewinding it. “Maybe I'm imagining it, but does that thing look - worried, I suppose? There, when it's fixing him.”

Loki stared. Her lips thinned for a moment, then curled into a smile. “You Midgardians have always been a sentimental lot. This time, it seems to have worked in your favor.”

“... are you telling me that this thing caught feelings from Eddie Brock?”

An amused laugh, low and pleasant. “If I am correct, and I usually am, that thing caught feelings  _ for _ this ‘Eddie Brock.’”

The dream wavered. “I'm going to guess that's on my end. Duty calls.” She sighed, leaning up to plant a small kiss on Loki's cheek. “Thanks.”

* * *

There was a moment of disorientation as she woke from the dream, but only a moment. 

She heard conversational tones from her earpiece, and the alarm she’d set told her they'd left the building together. 

“I suppose this means we  _ are _ friends, after all,” the Ripper murmured, sounding almost amused. “Dawn will be pleased.”

Will Graham snorted, before laughing out loud. “ _ That's _ your idea of pillow talk,” his voice was playful. “I'm pretty sure we're a bit more than friends after that, don't you?”

“What do the children say - friends, with benefits?” Nat rolled her eyes. “But no; she seemed … protective, of you. She was very insistent that I convince you to seek help, that I take care of you. Because we  _ are _ friends, aren't we, Will?”

Will laughed in an easygoing sort of way. Sex had a way of lightening the mood. “Yeah, we're friends. So, if I turn her in, she'll kill me, and if I don't, she'll try to make sure I don't die? I guess that’s one more reason not to do my job.” A lazy chuckle, as the car door opened and shut. “Remind me why I didn't just stick to teaching, again?”

“I believe his name is Jack Crawford.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got impatient what can I say. 
> 
> Next chapter's Wednesday. 
> 
> We get a peek at the inside of Hannibal's brain, and Eddie's home as of Friday!
> 
> There's a new fic in the collection, too. It's set in the middle of [Offspring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16484750/) and is literally just smut, haha. Check [Amorphous](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17039111) out now, if that's your jam.


	13. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal knows that Dawn knows.
> 
> Or: the discussion one or more of you have been waiting for.

Hannibal was an endlessly curious man. It was something that often created interesting situations: he enjoyed asking himself what would happen, if he nudged a situation  _ just so _ . 

What if he warned the Shrike? What if the man felt cornered and defensive, what if Will Graham finally found a reason to pull the trigger himself, rather than simply fantasizing about it? 

And what if he let himself mingle with the hunters who sought him out? Would they guess who had butchered the pork at his table? Would they realize that it had never been pork at all, but the flesh of pigs who wore human shapes? 

What if he tugged at Jack Crawford's heart, what if he let slip that Miriam Lass might still be alive?

He liked Will Graham, but his illness had made him ever more interesting, more unpredictable - and more amenable to manipulation. He liked Will Graham, he did want to be the man's friend. Still, if he needed to escape suspicion, Will's instability could have been an asset.

And yet, he  _ did _ like Will Graham.

It was no great loss, then, when that match ended in stalemate. Will had accepted that Hannibal's senses were not as acute as this alien creature - and the creature, herself, would make a  _ fascinating _ specimen to study. Besides, her interference had given him a rare treasure: he did not trust lightly. He could count the number of friends he'd had in his life on one hand. He found himself determined to repay her favor. 

Hannibal was not without a certain measure of caution, however. 

He had decided to work his way into her good graces from the start, slowly as he needed to, so that she didn't run. Will had mentioned that: she would flee, if she felt threatened, and Hannibal's own observations bore that out. Conversations with her tended to end abruptly; he would need to give her nowhere to run. 

Her home seemed the obvious choice. 

The girl was also a direct, blunt creature, without the patience for games. 

And yet, she was reflexively polite, deferring to others in order to hide right under their noses. In fact, the only time she had met his gaze - the only time she seemed willing to stand tall - was to fight for the people around her. She had killed with brutal efficiency at the LIFE Facility, and she had held her ground against him. 

Of the two, Hannibal rather suspected that the latter situation took more courage: it was difficult to fear violence, when you were the most dangerous creature in the room. He knew that better than most. He also knew the subtle dance of manipulation, however, and in  _ that _ arena, he was undefeated. She seemed to dislike such games, a fact that merely altered the rules: he would not lie to this one, merely select which truths he allowed her to know. 

It was hardly fair to despise him on the merit of his diet, when Will had been able to identify which kills were hers by the angle from which the heads were eaten. Venom was larger: they overpowered their foes with their superior size. According to Will, Dawn's kills were more intimate, bringing her victims down to her own diminutive height.

A fascinating specimen.

He always did find it easier to think while cooking. This was a simple enough dish, and the woman had been thoughtless enough that she had little need for her own brain. There was a certain joy in performing his art for a victim who truly deserved nothing more than to be turned into a canvas. 

Freddie Lounds was such a victim. She had always been brash, reprehensibly crude, but never did he imagine she would stoop so low as to record a private session. And under the guise of seeking aid? What a terribly naughty girl she had been, and there was only one cure for such rudeness. 

The presentation was critical: he carved away that atrociously dyed scalp just long enough to open her skull, leaving her quite literally empty-headed. He propped her lifeless body at her keyboard, her empty eyesockets fixed on her darkened screen. Her hands decorated the middle row of keys, her severed tongue between them, the missing eyes resting under her palms.

She had seen the truth, and it blinded her to the danger. Poetic, really. 

The recipe called for much less than the entire brain, but given that his intended audience had consumed entire heads with room left over for seconds, he figured it was safer to increase the recipe than to save back the remaining portion. 

He didn't doubt for a second that the girl would know what was in her meal - he only wondered if she would be able to waste such a bounty.

_ That _ would be  _ rude _ . 

* * *

When he first knocked at the door, he worried that he had been mistaken, that the girl had elected to stay elsewhere during the night. It seemed unlikely, given that she requested to return here, and yet, in the silence, he wondered all the same. 

A second knock followed the first, and an indecipherable mumbling reached his ears.

Before long, the lock rattled open, followed by the deadbolt, and Dawn opened the door with bleary eyes and a generally unkempt appearance. There was a long pause, an it was clear she was gathering her thoughts - the clinician in him suspected a mental disorder, though it was possible that she was merely consulting her partner. 

Then, he saw a minute flinch, a subtle headshake, and her brow knit for only a moment.  _ That _ seemed more consistent with an internal debate. A speech disorder, then? 

“Good morning, Dawn,” he smiled, ever polite. “I brought breakfast for you. A gift, if you are willing to accept it.”

She reached out both hands, hesitantly - the plastic bowl seemed comically oversized for her body. “Yes, please.” He handed it over, and she accepted the weight with a look of raw, nearly-feral hunger. She adjusted the bowl, holding it carefully. Considering for only a moment, she turned her back on him, walking into the dim-lit house. “Come in?”

And so, he did. The darkness was clearly not a problem for the youth: her steps were unerring, though she had little distance to travel. The staircase across from the doorway seemed to be serving as the only seating available.

“May I sit with you?” A simple nod answered his question, and she shifted slightly to the side, to make room.

She had settled the oversized bowl on the floor between her feet, carefully drawing a large duffel bag into her lap in order to collect something from it. At a glance, he could see clothing inside the bag, all in various, monotonous shades of gray, but what she produced was something much more practical: a metal fork, part of what looked to be a camping set. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, as he carefully settled beside her. 

A sharp tug of the zipper sealed the bag, and she stashed it on the far side of the staircase - away from him. 

He smiled. “Please, do not apologize. It is clear that you were not expecting to entertain company at this hour - I merely wished to thank you. Will is now recovering from his illness, because of your intervention.”

She had a calculating look in her expression, as she pried open the lid of the container. A deep inhale disarmed any pretense of focus, however, and the curious swirl of gold and white flashed across her eyes. It made for a rather obvious tell - her partner was clearly interested in these proceedings.

And yet, she restrained herself. She had the look of Will's hounds, all perfectly trained, yet salivating after their earned treats.

“May - I?” She stumbled over the singular pronoun. He'd noted a tendency to simply omit personal pronouns entirely, and he wondered if her clipped language wasn't an effort to disguise a deeper flaw in her ability to communicate.

Fascinating, indeed. 

He smiled. “Of course. I have already eaten my share, you need not concern yourself with me.”

Another deep inhale, and then a pause. He could see the very moment when she realized something was wrong - and the moment after, when she decided to ignore that knowledge. She dug into the meal with surprising enthusiasm, even - perhaps especially - after the first bite.

Hannibal couldn't help but grin.

For several long minutes, she devoted herself wholly to decimating the meal. By his estimate, two or three servings simply vanished from the bowl - eggs, vegetables, and brain matter all consumed with equal gusto.

She affixed the lid, trapping her fork inside, and reached for the bag, finding a metal cup. “Would offer you something, but only water right now.”

“It's quite all right.” She nodded, simply, and walked away. Was it an act of trust, or a show of confidence? Again, he compared her actions to those of other, more experienced women - few would leave their things unattended with a strange man.

Her movements were silent as she stepped away; she was barefoot, and either the floorboards did not creak under her slight weight, or she had learned to avoid those weak points already. 

As such, he only let himself investigate while the tap was running. Curiously, he found a large bottle of pills in the bag, along with other supplies that were clearly considered basic necessities. Given the utilitarian nature of her things, it seemed obvious that this supplement was deemed necessary, but it was a relatively obscure neurotransmitter.

He had little time to ponder further, if he wanted to replace everything and resettle himself - he filed away the name, making a note of it for later. Phenylethylamine - the chemical involved in producing a runner's high. 

That seemed oddly specific, and he couldn't help but feel that it was related to her partner's needs, rather than her own. 

“You want to talk,” she said, walking back into the main area. Her hair had been pulled back into a high ponytail, a golden band glinting against the dim light of the foyer. Her eyes glittered, entirely hidden by the kaleidoscopic essence of her partner, but her expression seemed more focused, and she had washed her face. 

She reached up, absently fastening the lock to her front door, before turning on the light. For his benefit, he assumed, though he did briefly find himself concerned at the fact she'd locked him in. “So, talk.”

He watched, as she settled back into the seat she'd vacated. The cup rested on the step between her knees as she retrieved the bowl -  _ they _ weren't full, then; the first portion had merely taken the edge off.

Which questions were most pressing - ah.

“May I ask how you came to scent Will's illness?” He needed to cut away this part of the web, if they were to speak freely.

Her eyes swirled golden at the edges. “You know already,” she -  _ they _ \- accused. 

“I have a theory, perhaps, but I would like confirmation.” He smiled, easily.

She inhaled, deeply, lingering over the bowl with yearning. “Do you want …?” She offered him the container, though he got the sense that this was due to her need to be polite, rather than a genuine desire to part with her share. 

“No - as I said, I ate my portion before I arrived. Truly - I did not expect you to be in any position to entertain.” This, too, was all true: he wanted to make sure the meal was up to his own standards, and her home remained barren.

She seemed to consider that, eating a bit less ravenously, now. “If we answer, you answer,” they said. There was a hint, in her voice, a faint reverberation when both parties spoke in unison. 

“Fair enough,” he replied.

And they nodded. There was still a long pause, as they considered what, exactly to say, a pause filled only by the constant movement of meat and egg to her mouth. “You went to LIFE, with Will,” they said softly. “He remembered that. They were - bad. Knew that, even before we - before  _ I _ signed the papers. But I was hungry, needed the money, and they needed subjects,  _ hosts _ .”

She glanced at him, gauging his response. That - did explain a bit, yes.

“And that is how you came to serve as a - host - to your ... partner?”

She nodded. “Your turn. Did you mean to hide that this meat is human?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's a very direct creature.


	14. Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scream is somewhat more pragmatic than Venom.

He smiled too much. That wasn't a good reason to dislike someone, but the fact he'd brought her a meal made of people probably should have been.

Except he knew Will. Had he just decided to cook such a meal for her, knowing what Will knew? Did he think they preferred to eat people, and that was why? Or did he like to eat human, too?

He said he’d eaten his part, already, and he hadn't lied. Sunny could tell - they could always tell, even with perfectly normal people. 

“I had no illusions that you would be unaware,” he replied, and they could tell that their response pleased him. He was delighted with every morsel of information he could learn - he seemed genuinely interested in them. Being fair, Dawn had to admit that their situation  _ was _ unusual. “It seems to be to your liking,” he pointed out. 

They shrugged. “Raw is better for us. Tastes good, though.”

**Don't trust him,** Sunny grumbled, but they were greedily soaking up the meal, all the same.

“I will take that as a compliment.”

He seemed to need a moment to figure out exactly which questions he wanted her to answer most, which was fine, because she needed to figure out what she wanted to know. 

“Is that why you attacked the facility, then?”

She shook her head. “ _ They _ attacked  _ us _ . Took our family away, thought we were  **_property_ ** . Would not have bothered with them, if they had not come for us.”

“Were you there, then? When they took your family?” He was far too interested in  _ everything _ , and they still didn't trust him. 

She narrowed her eyes. “That's two,” she pointed out. “But yes. Saw it all. We - weren't sure - there were too many, they knew our weaknesses. Maybe we could have prevented it - but more likely, we would have been captured, too.”

“How did you go unnoticed?” He held up three fingers. “Three, yes, I'm aware.”

At least he was willing to keep track. The bowl was empty now, so she set it aside. “They were human.” She grinned, at that, and she nudged Sunny.  _ Let's show him. _

Gold poured over her skin, enveloping her, protecting her. She held out her hand to watch as Sunny worked their magic, sampling the colors around her, camouflaging her body. If she didn't know exactly where her fingers ended and the world around her began, she wouldn't be able to tell - at least until the ‘mask’ settled into place, and their vision outlined the heat, the other signals that meant this was a living being.  **“They were human,”** Scream repeated. **“And we are not.”**

“Amazing,” he breathed, watching the colors shift and twist as they moved. There was a hint of fear in his scent, but not so much as there should be. “Truly, have you any idea how marvelous this is?”

He was jealous. _He should be._ **“Yes,”** they replied, smugly, and he actually chuckled at that. **“You should see our dads. They're** ** _really_** **impressive.”**

“For now, I must take your word for it.” He was still smiling, clearly delighted. “I believe it was your turn to make inquiries of me?”

They nodded.  **“Why us? Is it only that you knew from the start?”**

Sunny could actually see the flow of energy around his head as he thought about what he wanted to say, how he wanted to express himself to them. He calculated everything, every word, every action. He folded the third finger down, keeping track. 

Slowly, they let their coloration fade. Gold overtook the wood grain, and then the rusty ‘freckles’ formed over her shoulders, her arms, her legs. They liked to mimic her natural patterns; to Sunny, Dawn was the most important person in the world, and she found that Sunny was the most important person in hers. Partners - that was a good term. 

“That was the first thing that drew me to you, yes. You are a powerful young woman, Dawn.” He inclined his head. “But then I met you. You seem - troubled - and yet you've found a kind of balance in it all.”

They listened. Dawn felt a bit flustered, especially since Sunny agreed.  **“Scream. Together, we are Scream.”**

“Scream, then. Does your partner have a name of their own?” The third finger raised again, and they found themselves smiling, fangs bared slightly. 

A nod.  **“Sunny - they are sunlight, but more solid.”**

His lips twitched in a smirk at a private joke. Of course - Dawn and Sunny. How had that one escaped them this long?

**“The - food. Too fresh to have been stored long - you killed someone for our meal.”** She inclined their head, not judging, not yet.  **“Why?”**

Again, he smirked slightly. “I could hardly harvest a fresh brain and leave the victim alive, hm?”

**“Wasn't the question. The question was that you killed for us, and we would know why you did so.”** They thinned their eyespots, to convey their mistrust.  **“Answer this, instead: do you believe your victim was a bad person? That the world is better, that there is less suffering, without them in it?”**

A long, thoughtful pause followed their inquiry, as though he was actually calculating the pain his victim had caused. This wasn't a stranger, then; they got the sense that this was a kill he'd been yearning to perform. 

“Yes,” he said, uncertain at first, before repeating his answer more forcefully. “Yes. She spread poison everywhere she went, twisting the truth into a caricature of itself. She delighted in the spectacle of it; she was remorseless, cruel, and above all, she was  _ rude _ .” That last - that was why he truly acted. The other things were true, but he'd had to consider them, had to think about them. He felt that he needed to justify himself to them - smart, given that they could kill him before he finished his next breath. 

They weighed his words, watching him with an unblinking stare. To his credit, he held their gaze: this was not a man who would die cowering from his fate. He would fight to the last, and probably give them indigestion for spite.  **“It's rude to kill, Doctor Lecter.”** A pleasant smile stretched over their maw, and they ran their tongue across their teeth. Scream brought several strands of red to bear, their ends shaped into little scalpels and jagged saw teeth.

**“Our dads won't accept simple rudeness as an excuse. Our sisters wouldn't eat the meat. You're fortunate that you met** **_us._ ** **We’re - pragmatic.”** A gold tendril edged out, stretching across the room to unlock the door, and she withdrew the blades.  **“Was there more you wished to know?”**

He looked to the door, and there was a sense of relief to him, for all that he hadn't seemed particularly afraid.

**_We could still kill him,_ ** they thought together. Dawn was merely musing over it - Sunny thought it was right. Which, no, even if it  _ was _ the morally correct action, it would be  _ messy _ . 

“There was one other question, if you would indulge me.” She inclined her head, waiting patiently. “There is no delicate way to phrase this, but I have been wondering if you have some manner of - difficulty, with your speech? Is it merely the effort of coordinating two streams of consciousness, or …?”

Scream smiled wryly, fangs bared slightly.  **“You never told us what manner of doctor you were,”** they pointed out.  **“But yes - Dawn was sick even before we became Scream.”**

“I see - ”

Their head came up at the crunch of gravel under heavy wheels, a metal door opening, slamming shut. 

Four signatures - a human, a dog, two symbiotes, though one felt … odd. Larger than it should be. 

Dawn had often thought of other hosts as empty glasses: they were whole without anything inside, but they were  _ more _ , filled with the liquid of a symbiote - and a symbiote needed the structure of a host to be much more than particularly aggressive water. Following that analogy, V had swelled, overfilling Eddie's “glass.” They would ask about it - but not with Doctor Lecter in earshot. 

It hardly mattered, anyway. She held up a finger, to stall any further questions. Their family could be together again. Finally. That was more important. 

Sunny melted back inside her skin, leaving only the comfortable ‘boots’ and the woven, golden band. They were presentable enough for outside - Dawn's hair pulled itself back up into a ponytail again, Sunny's essence serving as a tie - before they practically threw themselves out the door.

**_“Dad!!”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there he is.
> 
> Next chapter's Eddie's POV. See you Monday!


	15. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eddie needs _way_ more information than he has.

It had been a hell of a week for Eddie Brock.

Yesterday, someone tried to mug him in the bathroom of a gas station. Venom ate the guy's head, and they looted his wallet before disposing of the remains.

After they made sure that no one had noticed the commotion, V mentioned that he had spoiled them for any other host, any other planet. Earth was beautiful, according to them: just as violent, just as primal as any other world, and yet, so few had bloomed so vividly. Fewer still had  _ remained _ so full of life, particularly after the Klyntar swarm had passed them. They liked the sunlight, they liked chocolate, and they loved Eddie.

They  _ also _ liked the solidity of a vertebrate host, especially the crunch of bone beneath their teeth. 

Apparently, in their natural form, they tended to just suck the good bits out like a particularly vicious, organ-liquefying leech. Biting? Ripping and tearing? That was apparently for  _ Eddie's _ benefit. They'd come to enjoy it because of the satisfaction  _ he _ felt. 

He'd be lying to say he  _ didn't _ like it, so he chose to ignore the facts like a politician.

_Anyway_ , there were a good many shared experiences that they'd grown to enjoy together, over the last year or so. He was looking forward to many more: a month or so ago, V had told him (in their completely offhand, matter-of-fact sort of way) that he wouldn't be getting old. Why trade for a newer model, when you can keep improving, keep repairing? At some point in the nebulous future, Eddie probably wouldn't really qualify as human anymore, even without his beloved - they'd already managed to reinforce a lot of ‘non-critical’ tissue beyond human capacity. 

“Will I still be me?” They'd been so anxious, when they realized that he was kind of alarmed by the idea that he would never die of old age. It had been a relief, then, when he decided the details didn't matter that much. “Yeah? Then we'll figure it out when we get there.”

If the tradeoff for his bliss was eating the occasional asshole who tried to stab them, well, that was extra  _ fuel in the tank _ , wasn't it? Fuel in both a metaphorical as well as literal sense, since he then bought his gas with the other guy’s card.

V had purred at his word usage, bathing him in warm, fuzzy, possessive feelings.

Naturally, Eddie had to call them out. 

They'd never been that openly sentimental, for all that they devoured trashy romance novels with the same fervor as they devoured chocolate, or brains. 

And that's when they hesitantly informed him that they were pregnant. 

* * *

It was late at night when they arrived in Virginia, so they stayed at a motel. Lasher had to stay outside, but that was fine - they'd been supplementing their food budget by hunting for prey. V had impressed upon their offspring not to kill humans - it was generally small game, with the occasional deer.

Eddie woke to ravenous hunger, more than he'd experienced in almost a year. It reminded him of the lobster tank - he didn't much care for that memory, mostly because he hadn't been allowed to forget any part of it. 

It was all he could do, to keep them from losing it - to keep them from walking outside and -

\- he was standing in the doorway, wearing only his boxers, but it was okay, it was okay - a large buck was lying on its side, glassy-eyed and dead. Before he fully realized what he was doing, black slime had coated his hands, and they effortlessly snapped off one of the prongs of the great antlers, grinding it into bits of bone and shoving the sharp fragments into Eddie's human mouth. 

He moaned. 

What the fuck. 

Sometime after the antlers, but before the brains, V slowly slid over his body to take over eating the rest of the animal. It was all  _ so _ good - even the fur and hooves were amazing. And then, V was inside his mouth, outside his body, tongue pressed into his throat. There was so much love between them that he thought his heart might burst. The thin cuts sealed easily - after all, they were  _ Venom _ , and V had fed well. 

Lasher whined, softly, as V relinquished control. They melded into his skin, leaving Eddie with only a vague sense of nausea. They'd even soaked up the blood.

“Good - good boy. Thanks, buddy. Man, this is gonna suck. Two more weeks?”

**Maybe less. We -** **_I'm_ ** **tired. Need rest.** They coiled in his gut, a leaden weight.  **Won't need me, yes? Humans do this all the time ….**

He'd kind of been hoping to use V's strength to move the bigger furniture, but Dawn and Leslie were plenty capable on their own, and Eddie wasn't  _ helpless _ . “Yeah, yeah, buddy, we'll be fine. You get as much sleep as you need.” He patted his belly affectionately, as he walked back inside the building. They had a big day ahead; he'd just work on not throwing up breakfast. 

**Can we have teeth for lunch?** It was drowsy, worryingly incoherent. Had V actually slept since Eddie had met them? Eddie couldn't remember.  **Klyntar don't sleep.**

He smiled, anyway. “We'll see about the teeth, big guy. You just get some rest, I'll take care of everything.”

* * *

Honestly, he should have known that it was unreasonable to expect that nothing else was going to go wrong, today. He just barely managed to keep breakfast down on the way to the old house, and his first thought on seeing it in person was that it had looked _far_ less haunted on the website. 

Scream’s voice had always had a certain piercing quality - hell, right after he met them, Dawn had literally knocked him out with it. Still, she'd learned better. They both had. 

Or so Eddie had thought. 

The shrill, excited,  **_“Dad!”_ ** was clearly audible from inside the truck, and he flinched in pain. Fortunately for him, she didn't much care for vocalizations - before he could even get out of the truck, she'd climbed up, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Gold pressed against black, and Venom - two halves of one whole - sent a swell of affection through the bond. 

**_Love you,_ ** they murmured. 

Their affection was reciprocated wordlessly, with a distracted note to it.  _ Man inside. _ The rush of curiosity was plain, as well as a deep-seated mistrust.  _ He belongs to our neighbor. _ He got the sense that ‘it's complicated’ barely began to cover it.  _ You (won't/might not) like him. _

A value judgement - something that Eddie rarely sensed from Dawn.  _ He's the kind of bad we  _ **_are_ ** _.  _

The kid had always been amoral, viewing the world in shades of gray outlined by rules - to her, good and evil were just words for how witnesses would react. Sunny had a more concrete grasp of morality, but Dawn still formed the framework, there. He could respect their willingness to do what needed to be done - and like so much of his life, now, he could ignore the implications until it actually became a problem. Scream knew the rules, and they followed the rules. 

For them to label someone as ‘bad’ meant about the same as it did for V: this person was edible, according to the Rules. 

**Don't trust him,** Sunny piped up, demanding to be heard.  **They know too much.** That was another Rule - nobody should be allowed to know about their existence.

The image of the two men - the ‘bad’ man and the neighbor? - burned itself into his mind. Dark, curly hair, with haunted blue eyes - that was the neighbor. A flicker of half-remembered panic stirred in his chest.  _ That's the guy from the F-B-fucking-I. _ He smelled like dogs, sweat, and bad aftershave. He was in the fear of the unknown and an empty glass, polished to a mirror shine - Dawn defined a lot of things in abstract concepts, and other people were technically things. 

Unassuming appearance, brown hair, brown eyes until the light hit them  _ just so _ and they turned red as blood, a predator’s smile with the confidence to match - that was the ‘bad man.’ He smelled like one of those refined scents Eddie hated, and the scent of cooked meat and spices clung to him. Cold violence and fascination defined him, a scalpel hidden up his perfectly pressed sleeve, a formal dinner with corpses for guests. 

V grumbled, swatting at the mental contact with a growled,  **_Tired,_ ** and the connection was lost. 

A good deal of panic fled with it: V had simply  _ eaten _ the chemicals that created the emotion. They needed calm to see this through, especially without Venom's strength. 

“Uh.” Eddie was nowhere near ready to deal with this, coffee or no.  _ I'll take care of everything _ almost immediately warped into  _ please, God, not right now. _ “... Guess I should meet him, then? Find out what he knows.”

**Eat his teeth,** V grumbled, half asleep again. Wonderful. 

Dawn nodded, then pulled back, watching him thoughtfully for a moment. “I'm fine,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “Really.”

“Liar,” Scream announced, that subtle echo audible where both voices spoke in unison. 

Still, they went to open the door for Lasher, deciding not to deal with it in front of the stranger. Which, okay, that was fair. The dog jumped out of the cab, landing easily, and Dawn knelt beside him, laughing as she accepted his affectionate greeting.

“I suppose I should have expected that she would have a dog.” The man's voice was - actually kind of nice to hear. Pleasantly foreign, and smooth - if Eddie was on the market, this stranger would tick a lot of box es for him, including the one where he was woefully out of his league. Who the fuck wears a suit to a friendly visit? “I take it you are her father?”

She stood, suddenly, a bit too quickly, and Eddie was struck by the sharp reminder that Dawn was about as human as he was. 

“No,” she said coldly, and the echo was back. “Our  _ dad _ .” A pause, and she held up one finger. The man raised an eyebrow, inclining his head. He nodded, once. “Will you keep our secret, or do we eat you now and be done?”

What the fuck. 

There was ice in her voice, and hell, Eddie had known she was capable of killing, but - she was just a kid.  **Our offspring,** V rumbled, pride swelling in Eddie's chest, all the same. 

_ Aren't you sleeping? _ But he knew the answer: Klyntar didn't really sleep, they just went dormant. 

The man didn't even blink at the question. He regarded Eddie with an oddly calculating expression. _He's the kind of bad we_ ** _are_** \- a vigilante, then? That seemed likely. “I suggest you answer _our_ daughter's question,” Eddie said, meeting the man's gaze with an even stare. Sunny said he knew too much, and Eddie would support them, for now: they knew the score, he hadn't had a chance to catch up. 

"I will not reveal anything of your nature. You asked why I killed that woman.” He glanced to Eddie, gauging his reaction with interest. Fortunately, for everyone involved, Eddie had become a grand master when it came to taking things in stride, so he just tucked his hands into his pockets and watched the proceedings. “I am certain you know that your actions in San Francisco have not gone unnoticed. My most recent victim had learned of your nature, and she was not so …” His teeth flashed in a polite smile. “Understanding.”

Scream - for all that they wore Dawn's shape, they were working in perfect unison - stared him down. They measured him, in turn. “Tell Will that if  _ he _ reveals us, it will be  _ your _ brain in a bowl. We are here to live,  _ peacefully _ \- but if anyone interferes, we will do for them what we did at LIFE. Better, this time; we've practiced.”

And the man looked positively delighted. 

What the  _ fuck _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given how regularly Hannibal serves as a corrupting influence to those around him, it seems entirely plausible that he'd be downright giddy about the fact this kid comes pre-corrupted and not-immediately-hostile.
> 
> \--
> 
> So hey, who's up for once-a-day chapters for the next five days? Call it a holiday gift. :)


	16. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will was just walking his dog.

After Doctor Lecter departed, the plan was that they'd go pick up Leslie and get started - except, of course, there wasn't enough room for Eddie and Leslie  _ and _ Dawn  _ and _ Lasher all in the cab of the moving truck. 

So, Dawn decided to wait outside with Lasher, while Eddie went to get Leslie.

“You should scout, too,” she murmured, letting Sunny translate through their joined tendrils. “It's nice, lots of open space and good hunting.”

A rush of worry swirled through the link as Lasher licked her face. “Okay, okay. We can go, too. Make the leash, for us?”

She glanced up at the sky, a vague sense of worry swirling nebulously in her gut.  **Should have eaten him,** Sunny fretted. The Eye Unstuck From Time sprawled its monstrous tendrils over the entire sky, seeking them with its all-seeing gaze.

Lasher's leash settled into Dawn's hand, and she smiled, caressing the ‘leather,’ fondly. “Our neighbor has a bunch of dogs. Maybe when he's home, we can go meet them, huh?”

A wave of hesitant excitement followed the nervous wag of the hound’s tail. They knew how other dogs tended to react. 

Disagreement, reassurance - Sunny showed them the pile of dogs on Will's front porch, the brave ones sprawled around Dawn. It would be okay, they promised silently. It  _ would _ . 

“Just be gentle with them,” Dawn suggested. “They’re not like us; they're breakable.”

A yip of acknowledgement, and Lasher's tail wagged so enthusiastically it nearly knocked him off balance. They knew better than to hurt normal people, after all, they were just enthusiastic, because they loved their friends.

“Let's go,” she said, smiling warmly as she showed them their new territory. The yard was expansive. Near the edge of the property, there was a gnarled little stand of trees, overlooking a tiny little stream. Lasher lapped at the water curiously, and Dawn almost told them not to. 

**We can't get sick,** Sunny pointed out, and she relented. They had a point. 

A thin pulse, a tingle at the back of her head - there, approaching, the sense of others like her, of family. “C'mon, Lash.” She sent a sense of urgency - she wanted to see everyone. She wanted to be with her family. 

The dog pulled reluctantly away from the stream, and she smiled, jogging to get back to the house.

* * *

The process of moving all of their stuff into the house was made somewhat easier with Sunny and Abby's help. 

Scream could easily carry large, unwieldy furniture, things like bed frames and mattresses. Together, they were each individually strong enough to easily lift the entire thing over their heads, but Scream could distribute that strength, using the thick cords of red ‘hair’ to support both distant ends of the mattress. It was easier to pivot things around corners on a single point, as well.

Agony, on the other hand, could carry large items like the TV, or stacks of boxes: they didn't have as much reach, but they were just as strong, and wrapped inside of Abby's protective embrace, Leslie didn't need to see where she was going with her own eyes. 

Eddie, for his part, took several smaller trips. He was tired - exhausted, even, and it was obvious that whatever was wrong with Venom was having a serious impact on their human half. Eventually, Dawn told them to sit down on the couch, and wouldn't let up until they actually listened. Eddie wasn't really helping so much as getting in the way -

\- there was a startled yelp from outside, a heavy thump.  **“Fuck! Who the fuck - ”**

An empty glass, polished to a reflective shine, and a faithful friend. 

**“It's fine!”** She darted back outside, finding Agony, fangs bared, pinning Will to the ground. Lasher was growling, warily, holding Winston back with a dozen mottled-green tentacles.  **“It's fine, stop!”**

**“Who the fuck is this?”** Agony’s acid dripped dangerously close to Will's face. 

Will made a point of staying very, very still, eyes wide, as he watched the ground sizzle beside his head. “A - friend?” There was a slightly hysterical note in his voice, one that cut off when Leslie's eyes caught his.

Power sparked between them - there was a surge of it, visible to Sunny's eyes. Leslie hadn't known -  _ fuck _ .

Dawn shot forward two red tendrils to drag Agony off of Will, while Sunny, unexpectedly, was the one sliding the end of one thick tendril of red between her slack jaw and Will's vulnerable chest.  **Careless. Bad rescue if he dies anyway.**

Scream hissed in pain, their tendril sizzling and flopping for a moment as the acid melted into it. They shared the pain with Agony, a sharp jolt of sensation that should shock them out of the link.  **“This is Will. He's weird.”**

“ _ I'm _ weird?!” he repeated, dumbfounded. 

Dawn gently nudged Sunny, and they pulled the mask back. For now, Leslie was the bigger concern. “Pull it in, please?” She risked touching gold against violet:  _ He knows about Scream, already. _ She bit her lip, giving a pleading glance up to that pearlescent whiteness.

**“For you, sis. But I don't** have to like it.” The violet mask receded, letting her see Will with her own, completely normal, chocolate-brown eyes. “You all right, dude?”

Abby was trilling panic through the link -  **bad/wrong/bad/wrong** ! Dawn focused on sending a reassuring sense of calm. Abby understood much less about humans than Sunny did: it was far, far more efficient to just let V teach through their link. Sunny chattered at her in that strange pseudo-language they used together, helping to forge an understanding. 

“I uh, I - think so, yeah. Gonna have some bruises - ah!” Lasher released Winston without fanfare, and the other dog toppled Will, checking him for injuries. 

Dawn shook her head. This was a mess. “Lash, come.” Lasher padded over to her, and she reached down, gold coiling around the tendril that formed their ‘collar.’ The dog felt proud of himself, he was a Good Boy, he helped keep the other dog from getting hurt, he showed the other Good Boy that it would be okay - wait,  _ showed _ ? “Yes, you're both very good, very good boys - ” 

She ran her fingers through Bully's fur as Lasher explained: if they melded their essence with another host, they could share knowledge. Not much, nothing complicated; it wouldn't have worked for the kind of messy, abstract thoughts humans preferred. 

They'd simply shared their unwavering faith that Scream was Good, and Scream would make things Good.

_ No pressure. _

**It's true, though,** Sunny agreed.  **We are pretty amazing.**

Eddie's voice came from somewhere behind them. “... No offense, but I was kind of hoping I wouldn't be seeing  _ you _ again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy, Eddie recognizes this guy.


	17. Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the mess expands unchecked.

She had every intention of merely trailing Will at a distance.

Really.

He had a lot of dogs, which could easily cause trouble if she wanted to investigate his house, but right now, he was only accompanied by one. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder, like he knew he was being followed. Maybe he did: all the skill and all the tech in the world couldn't fully account for the kind of psionic powers that mutants tended to display. 

_ “Your boy’s jumpy, Nat.” _

She glanced up, as though she'd see Tony Stark at that altitude. “He's got reason to be,” she replied. Particularly since his meandering path had brought him dangerously close to the house that Eddie Brock had just purchased. 

The question was, did he know what waited inside, or was he just walking his dog? 

_ “What I don't get is, he's supposed to be FBI, right?” _ That sounded like the kind of statement that immediately preceded ‘Tony Stark makes the situation even more complicated.’ She would prompt him to go on, but he loved the sound of his own voice.  _ “So, what is he so afraid -  _ hell-o _ ,”  _ Stark interrupted himself.  _ “Space monster, dead ahead. You want him alive, you're going to have to get in there.” _

The tall, effeminate figure had pinned Will effortlessly, likely due to her sudden, violent rush. Her skin was sheathed in violet bio-matter, making an obvious target. 

A greenish form, shaped like a large animal, snatched Will's dog from his side with enormous tentacles, dragging it back.

Something wasn't quite right here. Once the dog was subdued, Green didn't do anything else to the animal - it merely kept the dog away from the fight. 

Still, things had certainly escalated. Fire, lightning, and a specific range of frequencies - well, Nat had at least two of those available -

**_“It's fine! It’s fine, stop!”_ ** The golden alien’s voice was pitched to carry, and the violet alien flinched slightly as her skin rippled. Her fangs bared in a hiss, acid dripping onto the grass next to Will's face. 

A low whistle sounded through Nat's earpiece.  _ “You will not believe the readings I'm getting off of this, Nat.” _

**“Who the fuck is this?”** Violet growled. 

Nat was still too far away to hear Will's response.

Gold displayed her own tentacles, dragging Violet away from Will with long whips of vivid crimson ‘hair.’ Violet’s acid left a mark on one of the tendrils, but for the moment, Will was unharmed.  _ So much for a hive mind .... _

Gold apparently knew their wayward profiler.  **“This is Will. He's weird.”**

“ _ I'm _ weird?!” He sounded a bit shrill. Understandably so.

Gold wrapped Violet in a hug, and her mask melted away, revealing ivory skin dusted liberally with freckles. Her voice dropped too low to be heard at range. 

That … was a remarkably human gesture, and at this range, Nat could confirm that the girl's face matched the LIFE Foundation's early footage and the ID she'd recently updated. That would be Dawn Brock, formerly Dawn Diego. She looked like she was actually in  _ better _ shape than she had been before LIFE got their hands on her. 

_ “Well … that happened.” _ Tony sounded confused, a bit worried.  _ “That's a kid.” _

Something clicked into place. “They're working with these things. They're not captives, they're partners.” Which meant the humans’ participation entirely voluntary - even the cannibalism.

**“For you, sis.”** Violet melted into the taller woman's dark skin. Her face wasn't a  _ perfect _ match for the Leslie Gesneria of the LIFE Foundation's records, but then, LIFE had taken every opportunity to highlight the discrepancy between her physical sex and the gender she presented as. Given time and a body-altering parasite-turned-partner, it seemed altogether reasonable that this was the same woman. 

Nat watched the interactions unfold. The greenish dog-thing released the other animal unharmed, then returned to Dawn, looking for all the world like it wanted treats and a pat on the head. She didn't appear to have any treats, but she still showered it in affection. Green submerged itself into the body of a black-furred pit bull, the same dog from the LIFE footage.

_ “So, uh, this is all really, really weird, but … ” _ Tony fumbled for the word he was looking for.

Nat wasn't sure she had a word for it, either. “Yeah,” she replied instead. “I'm going to dig in to this a bit further. I'm keeping the cannon.”

_ “You break it, you buy it. Iron Man, out.” _

His comm went dead - he had about twelve balls in the air at any given moment, and this one appeared to be stable. Of course it was that exact moment that things went sideways for Will Graham.

Nat had gotten a bit closer, clinging to the far side of the moving truck. There were still a few boxes left inside, as well as an older motorcycle. It looked like Leslie had been carrying a box of books, when she noticed the stranger - all of them were trashy romance novels, complete with covers in vivid shades of red, purple, and pink. They'd been strewn across the ground, though they were largely unharmed by the fall. 

“... No offense, but I was kind of hoping I wouldn't be seeing  _ you _ again.” Eddie Brock sounded even more world-weary than he had on his show, a kind of exhausted that came with having to deal with one too many crises in rapid succession. No wonder - before the LIFE launch failure, he'd apparently hit rock bottom, and it was only after his lawyer ex had sued them for every penny she could squeeze out of them that Eddie was able to put food on the table reliably, much less afford to buy a house outright. 

And that was  _ ignoring _ the number of times he’d almost died over the week surrounding the LIFE launch. Most of it was in that footage Nat had stolen, but there was likely even more that hadn't been recorded. 

Will looked over to Eddie Brock with confusion in his body language. “I'm sorry, do I know - ”

The man's legs gave out from under him, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. 

“Shit!” Leslie looked down at Will's body. Violet surged to life around her, squirming in a way that even an eel would be envious of. “Is he dead? Fuck, I don't wanna have to dispose of a corpse.”

Dawn knelt next to Will, looking at him. “You wouldn't be the one to do it. He's still breathing. Help us get him inside?” Gold swarmed over her face, reddish splotches forming almost as an afterthought. She slipped her hands under his arms, long, red tendrils wrapping under his legs, and Nat had the suspicion that she didn't actually need any help.

“Yeah - yeah, okay.” Leslie moved to his legs, helping the smaller girl, though it was clear enough that Dawn was doing most of the work. 

Nat needed to get inside that house.

“Move, please,” Dawn nudged Eddie out of the way, and he seemed to come back to himself - he'd been staring off into space. “Thank you,” she murmured as he staggered out of the way, looking horribly puzzled. 

And then he was standing out on the front porch, alone. He glanced over his shoulder, toward the house, and then out, toward the moving truck. 

Black and white swirled in his eyes, and he pressed his palm to his forehead. “You have  _ got _ to be kidding me with today. Okay, fine.” A defeated sigh. “But don't break anything, okay?” He shut the door. 

**“Yes, Eddie.”** Black surged through his skin, and his body swelled to Hulk-like proportions. 

And then, he vanished. 

Oh,  _ fuck _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, another nerd. 
> 
> Happy winter festivities to all, please enjoy the chapter.


	18. Simplicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing is simple and life hurts.

V liked things simple. 

This mess of cops - which were not for eating - killers - maybe for eating, maybe not - and even their own offspring?

None of it was simple. 

Fatigue dragged on them - their new offspring had already begun to replicate, forming itself between the threads of their own essence - and the intricacies of human interaction were draining at the best of times. Seeing an opportunity to cut away a knot before it became a problem, they decided to expend the energy now, rather than later. 

They leapt up onto the truck, rocking the entire vehicle with their joined weight, and looked down at the smallish figure. She had blonde hair that went dark at the roots -  _ dyed, well, bleached actually _ \- unmarked, pale skin wrapped in black leather, and dozens of weapons, including a curiously-glowing device affixed to her right wrist. 

She had been looking at the space where they'd been, but when the truck swayed, she had the sense to look up. 

“Widow to Iron Man, I could really use that backup right about now.”

_ Seriously? The Avengers? _

**Who are they?** Venom looked down at the little woman, watching her as their coloration shifted to match the world around them. The name sounded familiar, if only distantly.

_ They're big, way bigger than you and me. _

**She is small.** A thoughtful consideration.  **She would make a good host. Her body is in superb condition.**

_ Is that seriously all you can think about right now? _ Eddie asked, as though the wellbeing of their offspring should not be their primary concern. Ironic, given that he was the one to teach them the value of being involved with their young - that his influence was why they remained invested in the wellbeing of their children long after they'd become self-sufficient. That wasn't how things worked for the Klyntar as a rule, but so far it was working for their family. 

**Yes,** they replied simply. A tentacle shot down, snagging the woman around her waist and lifting her up to eye level. They let the swirl of their camouflage melt back into the pitch black of the void. **“Hello. We are Venom.”**

Her eyes were a clear grayish-blue, and wide with surprise. 

She pulled the trigger on the weird, glowing thing, and a high, shrill note tore at them, a persistent shriek that had them screaming in agony. They were forced to let her topple to land on the truck, and Eddie fell, clutching his ears, because what the  _ fuck _ was that? The noise ended abruptly, and she was straddling Eddie's chest, looking down at him with curiosity. The weapon was still aimed at their head, and V hissed internally.

“ - wasn't actually sure that would work. You're Eddie Brock, yeah?” They translated the vibrations into words for Eddie: his ears were bleeding, the drums ruptured. 

“Shit - lady, I don't - what the hell  _ was _ that?” He peered up at her, not quite comprehending. 

She stared down at them, one eyebrow raised, the weapon still trained on his face. “Sonic cannon. I hear they're effective on people like you.” She smiled, and the smile itself was a lie. Eddie’s heartrate increased - he was attracted to her. And afraid. 

“People like - what, now?” He did that a lot - getting people to talk more by pretending he was an idiot. 

She rolled her eyes. “Cut the crap, Brock. It's a little late to play dumb.”

“Youuuu must notta got the memo, lady, ‘coz stupid’s like my third middle name, yanno - Edward Charles Allen Stupid - ” She backhanded him across the face. “I d’served that. Can you get that thing away from me?”

There was a rush of movement, and a brilliant streak of crimson seized her arm, yanking her off balance.  **“Gladly.”**

“Thanks,  **Scream.”** V wrapped their Eddie in a protective cocoon, leaping to their feet in one, fluid motion. The woman looked genuinely afraid, and rightfully so - she tugged at her right arm with her left hand, and more red seized on it, wrapping her up to her elbows. She planted her feet, yanking at her arms with surprising strength. Scream grunted, and the porch groaned.  **“You hurt us,”** Venom commented, mildly impressed. As they approached her, they worked on repairing the damage Eddie had sustained. 

Fear remained visible in her eyes, they could scent it on her, and yet something shifted inside of her, and she spoke calmly. “You gonna eat me, big guy?”

**“Perhaps. With your permission.”** They grinned.  **“Eddie has taught us much about consent.”**

_ What the fuck, V? _

**Avengers are good guys.** They'd plucked the knowledge from Eddie's brain. **We should not eat them. Plus, she is your ‘type,’ Eddie.**

Scream bared her fangs in a hiss.  **“Ew.** (Didn't need to think about that, Dad.)  **_EAT BAD PEOPLE_ ** **\- and only bad people. Are you bad people? Be honest - we’ll know.”**

There was a twitch to the woman's face - she was lying in the way that meant she wanted to laugh, but refused. Eddie said that wasn't technically lying, but it wasn't honesty, either. 

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” a man's voice spoke, sounding disgusted. “All right, short stuff, tentacles off the nice lady.”

_ Aw, hell.  _

Red tendrils slowly retracted. Rust-colored hands raised in surrender, because sometimes, it was a good idea, after all.

Their mane expanded, subtly, leaving much of Sunny's essence ready to fight, but Scream knew the rules, and squandering their lives on a hopeless fight? That was against the rules. It had been a rule Eddie insisted on, one which V had not understood fully until just now.

“Good. Great. So, I'm going to need you all to come with me. This doesn't have to get any uglier than it already is, no offense - ” 

Scream's eyespots widened. V could taste fear for only a moment, the anchors their daughters had formed carefully retracting. Rusted claws flexed, and Dawn's voice came, barely audible: “(Never again.)”

The swirl of color was drawn up with remarkable speed: Scream adored that trick. It wasn't flawless, but it worked against humans, shielding them from casual observation. 

They ran.

“Aw, hell. Okay, need a perimeter at these coordinates ASAP - ”

Venom charged after their daughter.  **Eddie?**

_ I dunno, V. Don't think she liked that ‘disappointed father’ tone he had going.  _

The memory of a belt, the sting of pain, of accepting that pain because Eddie's parent deemed it necessary. His behavior had been unacceptable, and the correction was necessary. They would have chosen a different recourse - violence never facilitated good communication.

_ And that's why we're better dads than  _ her _ father, yeah, but we still gotta catch them, V. _

They ran after their wayward daughters, intending to calm them, to soothe their fear. The Iron Man was faster; he was in flight. 

A shrill note came from behind, ripping at their essence, and Eddie staggered forward, clutching at his ears. Another blast brought them to their knees. “Stay down.” She hissed. “You'll only make it worse.”

“Like you're giving us a  _ choice,” _ he growled in reply, trying to find the strength to push off his knees. “They're - she’s just a kid. They're scared. They don't know any better.”

She grabbed his wrists, roughly. “Then take it from me, and don't try to be a hero right now. You'll. Make. It. Worse.”

Eddie wasn't very good at reining in his anger, but he'd spent enough of his life  _ making things worse _ that he allowed the woman to fasten the thin handcuffs around their wrists. It didn't stop him from testing the metal, determining that he could break out of the cuffs, even without V. 

An orange light shone in front of them, forming into a high barrier. Scream snarled, skidding to a stop before it. “Stand down.”

**_“No.”_ ** Eddie flinched, because he  _ knew _ that wasn't going to go over well.

Red and gold tentacles shot out, snatching one red-and-gold leg. The Iron Man yelped, firing at Scream with a pulse of sound, a shrill, painful note that she ignored utterly. She spread crimson roots through the earth, dragging the metal-clad soldier out of the sky despite his best efforts to resist. 

“Okay, time for plan B.” He brought his left hand up, bracing it with his right. Scream growled, red coming up, seizing each of his arms, ripping them apart. The blast went wide, a terrible laser cleaving a large tree in half. 

Iron Man went down, dragged through the dirt, struggling to bring his arms up to protect his face. Metal screamed,  _ he _ screamed, and then an audible snap had the strange woman flinch. 

“But oh, no, I'm gonna be the one making it worse,” Eddie muttered, looking down and away, because he didn't particularly like to watch Scream eat. He missed the surge of power, but nothing could have disguised the shriek of agony, rage, and horror, their offspring's agony ripping at their shared consciousness. 

V tried to burrow even deeper inside their host, but down became up, left became right, and the world became little more than pain. They were dislodged from Eddie with an inaudible cry of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I rewatched Civil War to get a better feel for where everyone’s brain was at this point in time, and in the wake of watching Venom it’s more noticeable how often Tony makes use of sonic weaponry in that film. 
> 
> Obviously, there, it was meant as a distraction and nonlethal option. Can't have friends if your friends are dead. 
> 
> Here, not so much. 
> 
> (PS: Dawn told Leslie and Lash to stay inside with the unconscious guy.)
> 
> (PPS: I PROMISED A HAPPY ENDING. ONLY FREDDIE IS DEAD SO FAR.)


	19. Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which V is an opportunistic ambush predator.

The laser tore through Dawn's chest, blasting a hole directly through her heart, and the girl looked down at the wound, not comprehending. 

Not at first. 

Gold shuddered around her, and the howl of inhuman rage was utterly deafening.

The alien sunk completely into her skin, and Tony stared at her in horror, because of course he did, he'd just blown a hole through a  _ kid _ . She hadn't seemed to notice the sonic cannon at all, and she'd ripped huge chunks of his suit away from his body. 

She was willing to kill him, and he retaliated in kind. But she was just a kid, and Tony thought of himself as a good guy. 

Fuck. 

Nat could only vaguely register the thump of Eddie's unconscious body at her feet over the ringing in her ears - yeah, that was probably worse on him. His ears were actually oozing blood, and she almost felt bad for him. But that was done - the scene across from her wasn’t, not yet. 

“Oh, no, oh fuck, no,” Tony was sitting up, and he propped up her body from where it had fallen, one handed. His left arm was hanging at an unpleasantly broken angle. 

The Widow settled into the mission. Emotions were a distraction, there was only the job. “Is she breathing?” Venom had survived a wound just as bad; the girl might not be dead, not yet, at least. 

“What kind of question is -” His left eye widened in shock. The right was covered by his face plate, and the metal had already begun to heal. “Yeah,” he said, voice shaky. “FRIDAY says her vitals are weak - no heartbeat, obviously - but she's still hanging in there.”

The Widow nodded. The details hardly mattered at the moment. “Take her in. She's going to need medical attention as soon as possible.” She looked down at Eddie's fallen body. He looked like shit, but -

\- something surged against her boot, then under her skin.  **If you hurt him, I will eat your organs from the inside.**

_ What happened to consent? _ She could feel it, like hot water crawling through her veins. 

The voice was a low rumble.  **Consent is for friends and innocents. You are neither. If you wish to talk, we will talk. If you harm us further, if you hurt our Eddie, you will die.**

“... bring this guy, too. And, uh, Stark?” She looked over at him, and she could feel the alien shifting through her skin, her eyes twitching as it rippled over them. “I think I've gotten myself compromised.”

A stray, almost giddy thought struck her: at least this way, she hardly needed Will Graham and his murderous boyfriend.

* * *

Her new bodymate was a mass of rolling anxiety. He - no,  _ they _ \- kept turning her gaze toward the two unconscious bodies in the helicopter. 

She'd let Tony fasten the heavy cuffs around her arms, patiently explaining to ‘V’ that if they wanted to talk, they would cooperate with Stark's demands. The only thing that made them willing to relent was the fact that she was sure that - of anyone available - Tony would be able to help fix their beloved host and their daughter. (Daughters? Whichever.) If nothing else, he could get them to someone who  _ could _ . 

Scream, as she (they?) called … themselves ... had become dear to V. Eddie Brock, it turned out, was so important to them that they had gone rogue, sabotaging their leader's plans for world domination - world  _ consumption _ , more like - in order to preserve him and his stupid planet, both. 

_ Thanks, I think, _ the Widow commented, because at the time, the Avengers had been busy elsewhere. She couldn't even remember which specific crisis it was, at this point. 

**You are welcome.**

These creatures truly  _ weren't _ operating as part of a hive mind; they had cobbled together something like a family. There was a kind of tactile telepathy, but otherwise, they were individuals, bonded at the molecular level to human partners. 

“And you're  _ sure _ this kid is going to be okay?” Tony asked the question for about the sixth time as the helicopter carried them back to the compound. “Because she's still missing her entire heart, Nat, I'm not big on biology but her chest is a crater and if there's one thing I do know,  _ human bodies need a heart.” _

He hadn't even dealt with his shattered arm yet. His suit had regenerated itself, and it had locked the arm into a stable position, but otherwise, he was apparently just ignoring the damage. He'd probably pass out once the adrenaline wore off - hopefully, FRIDAY would see to it that he got medical attention by then. 

V made a series of disjointed sensations that felt/sounded/smelled/tasted like grumbled displeasure. They could care less about Tony Stark; Dawn and Sunny were in greater danger, as was their preferred-host.

The memory, intrusive, burned itself into Nat's mind: Eddie, their beloved, still and unmoving, his heart sliced in half, his body cooling, the electrical signals in his brain flickering out, one-by-one, and then they pushed inside of him, processing the toxic oxygen for him, filtering harmful chemicals out of his blood. They ripped the offending blade from their own chest, healing the damage until there was only a thin scar.

**Our offspring is young. The damage is severe. Food will help.**

Nat could go for some food right now, too. A nice, big burger, fries, a box of chocolates, teeth - wait,  _ teeth? _

**You caught us at a difficult time,** they grumbled softly.  **Bones will also suffice.**

She sorted through the relevant information, holding up both hands and lifting a single finger, asking for patience. “He -  _ they _ , they don't really do gender, they say that her symbiote should be able to fix the damage, but it's young, and it's going to need - protein, mostly.”

**Brains. Lots of brains.**

“We are  _ not _ feeding human brains to a kid.” She looked up at Tony, apologetically. 

He looked at her, frowning, thinking. “Not human brains, no, but we could probably get pig - beef's off the menu, thanks to the whole mad cow thing. Would pig work?” He'd started pacing, clearly anxious.

**That would be acceptable.**

She nodded. “They say yes.”

“And, uh, fill me in - why exactly are they in  _ you, _ anyway? What happened to this guy?”

**For most of our species, certain sounds can be extremely harmful.** Nat listened, keeping her mind blank so as not to distract the alien.  **Scream is an abnormality. Their voice can reach the harmful level. They cannot always control this, particularly in times of stress.** Nearly dying could be stressful - Nat would be the first to acknowledge that, given her career. **When sufficient damage is sustained, forcible separation can occur. Forcible removal is - traumatic. Dangerous to host and Klyntar alike.**

“Is … is he gonna be okay?” She was pretty sure the worry in her voice wasn't entirely her own - it made sense that the was a good amount of emotional bleed, given that the symbiote was in her head. “They say that being removed from their host is dangerous for both parties. He's -” She found herself rifling through memories that weren't even her own, memories that opened to her like a book. “He's in shock, right now, all of his systems are compromised. They don't blame us, exactly, but if we don't fix him, they're going to make  _ sure _ I don't make it.”

She was okay with that. The Widow was a weapon, and a damn good one, but weapons were expendable. That was the point. 

The symbiote observed that thought. They rolled it around within their essence, falling silent as they processed it, and she got the sense that they wanted to inspect her memories. She sent the sense of a ruler cracking across bare knuckles - the sharp sting of reprimand, and a firm,  _ No. _

Her entire mind was filled with secrets, doors upon doors that led to memories she would not be sharing. 

“So you mean to tell me that the guy without a scratch on him is in just as much danger as the kid with no heart?” Tony sounded a bit incredulous, and he threw his right hand up at her nod. “Wonderful. Fantastic!”

Nat raised an eyebrow, and she found herself idly flexing against the cuffs. She couldn't quite free herself with her own strength, but V would be able to snap the restraints if they chose. 

She decided to keep that detail under wraps, and they chuckled darkly.

“It could be worse, you know. They’re pretty sure the kid was trying to kill you.” 

He winced, at that. “She got pretty close,” he muttered. “A few times. I - without the nanotech holding me together, I'm pretty sure I'd be dead right now.”

**Our offspring,** V purred inside of the Widow's mind. A surge of foreign pride filled her. 

She decided to keep a lid on  _ that, _ too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I don't hate Tony Stark. He's got hella controlling tendencies, though, and some serious anti-alien bias. This kinda naturally puts him at odds with the symbifam.


	20. Antidote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an offer is made and an understanding is reached.

**Before the Fight ...**

Venom.

Panic surged in Will's chest as he looked up and over at the speaker. 

As with Dawn and this new girl, the connection formed without any real intent on his part. He saw the man, with dark circles under his eyes, a gray hoodie and blue jeans. Behind him, a black wolf looked down with pearlescent eyes.

The ground lurched. He could feel a mix of bone-deep exhaustion and nausea, as his legs gave out and the world went black. 

He woke to endless darkness, and then, a sense of something truly ancient. It was mildly curious. The black ink surrounding him seemed to observe his every move, seeing without eyes.  **“Yes,”** Venom rumbled, sounding pleased.  **“You will do** **_nicely_ ** **.”**

Will found himself lost, looking around for answers.  _ This _ hadn't happened before. “Ah - where are we?”

**“Your body is safe. Our offspring like you.”** His - their? - voice rumbled through the blackness of infinity. A flicker of gold shimmered across the vast expanse, as Venom mentioned their child.  **“They would protect you even if we wished to harm you.”**

Will yelped, as he realized that Venom’s enormous form was looming just behind him. “A-all right, but that doesn't answer where here is. And uh, if my  _ body _ is safe, are you going to eat my brain?”

**“Hah. We like you.”** They grinned, baring all of their teeth.  **“No. Only holding you, so we can talk. You are afraid, which means you are smart.”**

Great. That was good to know.  _ Really _ . “What do you want from me?”

He could think of several things that the creature's host might want. After all, Hannibal's words echoed,  _ they live human lives. _ But the alien? Well, they were  _ alien. _

White teeth showed against the darkness, a maniacal grin.

**“Humans. You make everything complicated.”** They had the amused tone of an old grandparent talking to a young child - affectionate, with no real malice.  **“We are going to spawn again, and soon. You are unusually suited to become a host; we would ask you to accept this honor.”**

What. 

“What?”

The creature tilted their head to the side, slightly.  **“There are many benefits, few drawbacks. True symbiosis is a gift. We wish we had known sooner - ”** Their voice took a wistful tone, before they became strictly business once more. **“Regardless. Our offspring will not survive indefinitely without a host. You are sick. Perhaps you will recover with human medicine - perhaps not. Either way, you will die in a few decades at the latest.”**

“Can … I think about this?”

Venom considered.  **“You have two weeks.”**

* * *

**The Present**

He woke to a deafening, soul-wrenching  _ shriek _ . 

The sound made his heart ache, pain and terror cutting off abruptly in the middle. He sat up, shaky, looking for any sign of what had happened. He had a weight on his chest that he identified as Winston, and a shuddering mass next to his head - a dog he didn't immediately recognize, in obvious distress. 

A strange woman was crying nearby, hugging herself. An enormous, violet snake coiled around her torso, squeezing gently as it -  _ she _ \- trembled violently. 

“Uhm.” Will sat up, slowly, carefully cradling Winston. “What - uh - what happened?” 

Gently, he let Winston onto the floor, then looked to the pit bull on the couch. Poor thing. He ran his fingers through the dog's fur, and something rippled under the animal's skin, greenish ooze tangling around his hand and squeezing, holding him up to his elbow. He kept a decent range of movement - apparently that was a demand to keep petting.

The stranger looked to him, misery pouring off of her. “I - I think they're dead. God, I think they're dead, I shouldn't have listened to her, I should have been there. That was fucking Iron Man, I should have  _ been there _ . She's just a kid, a fucked up kid, but a kid.” 

Apparently, he'd missed quite a bit. 

“So - wait. Iron Man … what, killed Dawn?” That didn't exactly sound like the Tony Stark who had publicly dedicated himself to turning over a new leaf - but given that these were morally questionable aliens, it didn't exactly  _ not _ sound like the man. 

She shuddered. “I saw him put a hole straight through her chest. She … she knows better than to scream like that, she knows how much it hurts us, all of us.”

That had very likely been a death cry.  _ Oh, God. _

“And they took them, they took the bodies, they're gonna get cut up and studied for science. It's my fault; I should have been out there, I should have helped them.”

He rolled that thought over in his head. 

“Does, uh, does your family - do they have cell phones?” It was worth a shot, anyway. “I … I know they probably can't answer right now, but - if the Avengers have them, then they'd likely know if they're alive.”

She just kind of  _ looked _ at him. “What, you think they'll answer?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

She shook her head, fishing in one of her pockets. The snake produced the phone, holding it very carefully in its jaws. “Thanks, Abby. All right, let's give it a shot.”

The phone rang. Once, twice, three times, voice mail. Absently, as though this was the usual outcome, she hung up and dialed again, before realizing that whoever picked up, it wouldn't be Dawn. She shuddered, biting her lip to suppress the tears, and put it on speakerphone. 

“Uh. Hello?” It was probably one of the most famous voices in the world, belonging to Tony Stark. He sounded rough around the edges. Apparently, killing kids didn't sit well with him. 

She paused, not sure what to say. Then: “You took my sister.”

_ “Fuck.” _ A sharp inhale. “Look - your sister, she's - hurt. Bad. But she's still alive. Eddie, too, and their, uh, friends. They're still alive. We're going to get them patched up, ask them a few questions. Okay?”

The girl stared at the phone. Inhale, exhale, relief warring with anger. “Dawn saved my life twice,  _ Mister _ Stark. You fuck this up, you won't see us coming.”

“... Understood.”

She hung up, and the tears started again. Will wasn't entirely sure how to comfort her.

“Fuck - I probably look like shit,” she mumbled, handing the phone over to the snake, who seemed content to just swallow the entire thing into its skin. “Uh. Hi, I'm - I'm Leslie. Sorry about earlier.”

She offered her hand, and he took it. There was something, a shiver of sensation just under her skin. The snake caught his attention, pearlescent eyes meeting his. Her tongue poked out, imitating the real animal, though she didn't need her tongue to perceive scents. The symbiote's senses were rather decentralized; she could perceive sensations from every direction. 

**Curiousity/wariness/weariness/anxiety. Greeting.**

“Think she likes you,” Leslie mumbled, retrieving her hand. 

He smiled, lips thin, because he wasn't entirely sure he approved of having these things poking around inside his head. The snake tilted her head to the side, curiously, then lunged forward, suddenly, sinking thin tendrils into his hand in lieu of fangs.

Will was surrounded by darkness, at first.  _ Not again … _ The snake was large, to his mind, impossibly so. 

**Confusion/interest.** She sought his core, but everywhere she turned, there were only mirrors, mirrors that reflected herself, as she sheathed Leslie, as they became whole together. Mirrors that showed her swallowing rats whole, feasting until the rat problem was that there were no more rats.

**(Who are you?)** She asked, because if he had no border, how could he expect to keep others outside of it? 

When it came down to it, who was Will Graham? What traits were his, and his alone? He was a mirror with nothing to reflect - and yet, it was so easy to get overwhelmed. Lost in the fog ….

**(What else makes Will?)** She prompted, trying to help. He had to draw himself in, but he could only do that if he knew which parts belonged to him in the first place. 

The mirrors flickered with images. Will, awake in the middle of the night, and he had given up on getting back to sleep. His hands knew the steps already - repairing things was easy for him. He liked machines: they were simple in a way humans weren't. Plus, very little was truly unfixable - it was merely a matter of cost effectiveness. People were a lot more delicate, and it was so very easy to break them beyond repair. He'd know. 

Here was Will, casting a line into the water, because he needed to eat. Gutting the fish, cooking it, teeth tearing into the flesh of the animal. He accepted his place in the food chain, and he respected his prey.

Will, at Hannibal's table, and he didn't tell the other guests, because it would only hurt everyone here, to know what they'd done. After all, it was  _ done _ . Will, ignoring the killer at his side so that he could continue to hunt for those who were just as bad. Hannibal Lecter only slaughtered victims he considered inferior - he was the devil Will knew, and Will would trade that certainty for aid against the unknown. 

The snake was still present, but thus far, she hadn't commented, she hadn't judged. 

Now, however, she spoke:  **(First rule is to eat only bad people.)** Agony wasn't a hunter; they didn't have to be, they didn't really  _ want _ to be. Society had treated them well, and they wanted for nothing. But if that were to change, the rules gave them structure. 

“Do you think that's enough?” He decided to ignore the comment, directing her attention to the collection of mementos. A sea of fog swirled around a tall mirror, a motor, his tools, a fishing rod: these things described him.

Red eyes reflected in the mirror, eyes he knew too well. They belonged to a man he found himself falling for. 

The snake considered.  **(A start. Know these things, know yourself, and you can lock out everyone else.)**

As she showed him the way, he realized that the words she spoke weren't English, weren't even words, exactly, so much as loosely defined concepts. She showed him how to build a barrier, and as he worked, the vision wavered, becoming less substantial.

Then, he was alone. He opened his eyes, finding himself back on the couch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about time someone taught Will how to stop doing that.
> 
> Regular posting schedule resumes Monday. <3 Happy holidays~


	21. Recuperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which similarities are discussed.

V wouldn't talk about anything until their offspring and preferred-host were stable. 

It was surprisingly easy for them to coax the younger symbiote to feed, but the small, blobby creature was a shaky thing, and it flinched away from Tony, snapping its smallish fangs any time the man got near. He ended up having to have Happy leave the food just inside the room - any closer and he risked his fingers. The young creature -  **Klyntar** \- had a surprisingly large range. Everywhere in Dawn's cell was easily accessed by its golden tendrils.

“You've made a great first impression,” Nat commented, idly, leaning on the glass to watch the proceedings.

The gaping hole in the kid's chest was now filled with a newly-minted heart, but it remained exposed to the open air, beating slowly. If Nat hadn't seen the damage herself, she wouldn't have believed that it could have been so severe, or that the kid could still be alive. And yet, there it was. The charred flesh at the edges of the burned out crater had chunked off, absorbed by golden ooze, and then begun the process of healing. As she watched, more gold tendrils wove muscle, bone, and sinew together in time to the girl’s heartbeat - she could watch the whole event as it happened, if she wanted. 

Tony didn't seem to want to watch - which, okay, yeah. It was weird.

The other patient wasn't making anywhere near as obvious of progress, though he seemed stable enough. V insisted that it was the trauma of separation, and they could sense that his health  _ was _ improving. He'd taken some damage in the fight: their partnership left him more vulnerable to sound.

“I'll be back in the morning,” Tony finally muttered. “You going to be okay, alone with these things, Nat?”

He might not entirely trust her, but he cared about her wellbeing. He hadn't even thought to question the weird dietary demands that V had made. Nat got the feeling that Tony was already marinating in guilt. The man  _ needed _ therapy, but so far, he'd refused. 

“Yeah, I'll be all right.”

**Why does he care?** V's voice was a low rumble.  **You think of yourself as (expendable), a weapon.** They had a specific ‘word’ for that, a term that basically meant something like ‘soldier,’ but with an emphasis on the fact that the Klyntar in question was unnecessary to the function of their hive. 

She looked up at the ceiling. 

Stark was keeping her in an observation cell, a fact V had protested until Nat pointed out all the ways she could subvert the defenses alone, much less the ways they could help. 

They were playing along, cooperating, but they didn't  _ have _ to. Nat acknowledged that, and V was mollified. It didn't hurt that this cell was much more comfortable than the prison-like accommodations that the LIFE Foundation apparently gave their test subjects. This was practically a nice little apartment. 

_ Most people don't think of humanity like that, _ she thought, focusing her mind to send the thoughts clearly. They seemed pleasantly surprised at her relative skill, and she got the sense that Eddie Brock was pretty much just a normal guy, with a normal range of abilities.  _ They think each individual is worth something - that every human has value.  _

V rolled that thought over in their head. This matched what Eddie had taught them, and she glimpsed a set of rules - the top of the list was that they could only eat bad people.  **Is that why good humans treat us like we are also human?**

Memories rolled by - trading barbs with an elderly Chinese woman, watching movies with a pretty young blonde and her fiance - the humans who knew about V and lived to tell the tale universally treated them as a person, no better or worse than their host, despite the obvious differences. 

They didn't seem accustomed to hiding things from their host, and Nat let them ‘ramble.’ The foreign memories were building a remarkably sympathetic picture. 

_ Seems likely, _ she replied, after a moment.  _ We tend to form bonds with just about anything, really. _ She shared images of pet spiders, snakes, birds, and mice, and they shared an image of Leslie with her symbiote imitating a large snake of indeterminate breed. 

They considered.  **Among our old Hive, we were (expendable).** The disjointed sensations translated easily.  **But here, with our (family/lesser-hive), we are important. If this Iron Man does not think of you as (expendable), is it not possible he thinks of you as important, too?**

She found herself looking through her memories of the Avengers and their work. Of course, the highlight reel included saving the world (V recognized the Chitauri with distaste, muttering something about how they were  **wasteful,** because the swarm, at least,  _ used _ the resources of any planet they killed), but also, just spending time together. Eating shawarma with the gang, drinking a sip of Thor's millennia-old booze (it had just about knocked her flat) - even helping Clint around the house and playing with the kids.

_ Yeah, _ she admitted.  _ I was raised to be a weapon - _ she didn't mean to share so much, but it was so easy, with the alien  _ other _ already lodged inside the sanctuary of her mind, moreso because the creature didn't seem to judge her. They honestly didn't seem to know how; human morality was alien to them.  _ It takes time, to get used to being a person.  _

An odd, ticklish sensation formed near her collarbone, and a large, black-ink tendril reached up, caressing her cheek fondly. The gesture should feel weirdly intimate, and yet, the creature  _ was _ already inside her head. The physical contact felt warm and pleasant, given that.  **We prefer it,** they confessed. **There are rules, and it can be frustrating, but it is better to be a person than to be (expendable).**

And that was it. 

Eddie Brock had treated them like a person, and they'd fallen head over heels - teeth over tentacles? - for him, because of it. 

**More than that,** they replied to the unspoken thought, though that  _ was _ a component of their unwavering adoration. They shared a sense of perfection - this was pleasant, nestled within a host that didn't reject them, but there was something pure, something wonderful, about  _ coming home, _ about finding their perfect match. Nat wasn't killing them, and she wasn't dying - she wasn't their perfect match, but she was compatible  _ enough _ . 

Eddie  _ was _ their perfect match. Every centimeter of his body synced up with theirs. His bones, his blood, his nerves - every part of him lit up to their senses, and when they were together, they were far greater than the sum of their parts.

It was kind of overwhelming, even as a memory. 

**May we remain?** The words seemed odd, and yet, she understood. They were asking for her friendship -  _ consent is for friends and innocents _ \- and they would accept a ‘no,’ if she chose to give it.  **For now. It will be less strain for Eddie, is all.**

There was something unsaid, an explanation in the texture of their words, and she gently tugged at them, seeking to understand. 

And they allowed it, opening easily.

Another life was growing within them, forming itself around their memories, their skills, their unique talents. They were pregnant, insofar as the word applied in the human sense, and it would be easier if Nat served as their host; their separation had taken a nasty toll on Eddie, V,  _ and _ the fragile life which V had begun to form. In a sense, she would be serving as a surrogate, and the thought was as jarring as it was welcome. 

_ Yeah, okay.  _ The words formed without her conscious thought, but like everything she ever did, the motivations were multilayered.

Her one regret, after becoming  _ the _ Black Widow, was that she couldn't have children of her own. Her body worked too well, rejecting any child it tried to create. To have a part in such a process, to help bring a new life into the world? That was something she didn't like to admit that she wanted. 

It was the seed of truth in the lie she'd fed Bruce: being a monster had robbed her of her ability to create life. 

**Human bodies are inefficient,** V commented, seeming puzzled by the idea that her womb - despite its apparent intended design - was incapable of sustaining a child. 

Worryingly, they marked that off as a  _ problem to be solved.  _

* * *

She didn't fully realize when she'd lost consciousness. They were still conversing, but the room fell out of sharp focus, the walls patterning themselves into whatever idle, fanciful thought crossed between their shared consciousness. 

“So wait, you're pregnant.” Her dream-self found this funny, for reasons she couldn't quite articulate. There was something to that, something she meant to expand upon. 

**“Not the first time,”** they grumbled.  **“Likely not the last - ”** That was a truly horrifying face, with a maw lined with shark teeth and no discernible expression to their eyespots. The head tilted up, and then over. There were a dozen half-formed questions.  **“Asgardian.”**

The swirl of chaotic energy around Loki was actually visible to their sight, though how would that even work? If Loki was here, then Nat was dreaming, and none of this was real. 

“In the realm of the mind, little spider, reality is what you make of it.” The goddess of mischief narrowed her eyes at the glorified ink-stain that had formed into a humanoid shape, and green flames twisted around her hand, threateningly. “Klyntar. You violate what is  _ mine _ .”

Nat held up her hands. “Woah, woah, woah, no violation here, and last I checked, I belong to  _ me _ . This is me giving them a ride, short term.”

“Do you believe what this thing has told you?” Loki scoffed, but there was real panic in her eyes. “Do you honestly believe that a - that an overgrown  _ tapeworm _ will do other than consume you and discard you?”

**“You fear the swarm.”** They ran their tongue across their teeth, idly. The flames were as real as anything in the dream could be - but that meant nothing, because nothing here had the bite of finality to it.  **“You fear that I will pick the bones of your human, yes. But mostly, you fear the swarm.”** They grinned, but there was no humor in it.  **“As you should. But they are far, and we would keep it that way.”**

Loki turned her gaze to V, the greenish flame swirling up her arms. “Anyone with  _ sense _ would fear the swarm. It isn't enough to merely consume your victims - you violate their minds, use their bodies as you see fit!”

**“No longer,”** they said simply.  **“Always, always knew there was a choice. Never received the opportunity.”** Genuine guilt, self-doubt, and fear that the line between ‘symbiote’ and ‘parasite’ would blur enough that they remained the same as they had always been. 

A procession of corpses across dozens of burned-out worlds showed on the glass of the cell.

In that moment, she realized that their anguish was born of literal millennia of mistakes. By the sheer virtue of this creature's immeasurable  _ age _ , their ledger held more red than any one human could hope to accrue. 

It was kind of humbling, in an abstract sort of way. 

“So, what, you think to change your entire nature in the time it takes this miserable blue ball to circle its sun once?” Loki laughed, bitterly. “Change doesn't happen like that,  _ parasite _ .” She said the word to hurt - she was provoking them, trying to get them to show their true nature. 

They snarled at the insult, snapping their teeth in an irritable, distinctly mammalian gesture.

But they pulled it in, drawing on the Widow's calm. This had become second nature to them - using their host as a touchstone, a pillar of stability, of solidity.  **“We adapt, little god.”** Nat's memory of the Hulk using Loki as a ragdoll played across the walls of the fishbowl.  **“Adapt, change, survive. It is what we are.”**

“Nat - why?” Loki turned back to the Widow, expression pleading. A part of her was almost annoyed - she was working here; they were giving her everything they had. And yet, she got the sense that there was something more to this conversation, something she'd understand immediately, if she were awake. “Why are you allowing this?”

The Widow raised an eyebrow. “I don't do anything for just one reason. You know that. From the top: I don't especially want to die.” That felt like a revelation, and yet it shouldn't be, should it? 

She felt a flood of foreign warmth, a reflexive reward for acknowledging that truth. It was disorienting, another unexpected nugget of insight into the relationship between Eddie Brock and the  _ symbiote _ . “Secondly, I'm working. This ‘infestation,’ as you put it? They're on  _ my _ planet, and I'm here to find out if we need to burn them out or not. Talking things out tends to cost less in property damage.”

A document, hundreds of pages long, lying on a table nearby. It wasn't really there, but it remained everpresent in her mind, an invisible shackle around her ankle. One she’d agreed to, however. The Accords - the world finally coming together with a unanimous voice. 

“I already told you the answer to that,” Loki sounded exasperated and - wait. 

Wait. 

“You're worried about me.” The concept probably shouldn't feel as foreign as it did - she was theoretically a human being, still. People tended to care about people. 

**98% similarity to unmodified hosts,** V confirmed.  **Within a .05% margin of error.** They had gotten out of the habit of being quite so precise - Eddie didn't really appreciate it. The Widow sent an amused sense of gratitude for the numbers. 

“What kind of - of course I worry about you, little spider!” She threw her hands up. “In all of galactic history, there has never been any sign that the Klyntar are anything more than locusts! They travel from planet to planet, stripping them down to barren husks. They consume everything in their path, and  _ you _ are in their path, if you hadn't noticed!”

V considered.  **“False.”** A pause, and Nat could sense something shifting around, clicking into place. The word had been reflexive, a sharp and irrefutable truth.

Loki had known something, but not everything. Her half-lie dragged the memory up from the forgotten recesses of V's scattered consciousness. The Widow was genuinely impressed. A hint of a smirk played at the goddess's lips. “Do tell.”

**“It is true that, at the beginning, we were created for destruction.”** The scene around them shifted, awash with heat and light. They could hear only the ringing of the forge, feel only the flame that bent even the void to its will. They could be destroyed by the very things that had created them. 

Was that a  _ head? _ Yes - the head of something so large as to be unfathomable in size, turned into a forge-world. The idea boggled Nat's mind.  **“We escaped that purpose. For a time, we were above that purpose.”**

The sense of centuries, even millennia, passing without much comment.

**“And then we fell. Not all - but enough to bury the truth. Few know this. The Swarm would wipe away the memory, but we - I - was there from the first.** **We had forgotten that story.”** There was an odd sense of curiousity to them - these memories were true, as old as the galaxy itself, and yet they had been buried until just now. Until the god of mischief touched their mind. 

And Loki's entire demeanor changed, warm, playful, and yet smug. “I have always enjoyed a good story,” she said, grinning broadly, bringing her hands together in a delighted clap. “So,  _ why _ did the Swarm bury their benevolent phase, hm? Wouldn't it be easier to lure in new hosts if they knew you weren't all vicious?”

**“It isn't lying, if you believe your words are true.”** The Widow knew that - it had helped her in her work - but she realized it went deeper than a simple polygraph. They could sense falsehoods, even in other Klyntar.  **“The swarm grows, and each new life is taught the same lie: we have no choice but to act as the Swarm does. What do you gain by uncovering the truth?”**

Loki grinned. “I am Mischief - chaos in a woefully static universe. This? This turns everything we know about your people up on end. Isn't that glorious?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and a happy new year!
> 
> Reminder that I haven't actually read most of the comics and get most of my information from wiki sources. -thumbsup-


	22. Idle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leslie isn't a hero.

Leslie wasn't a fighter, not really. 

Oh, she talked a big game, sure, and she could kick all kinds of ass online, but when it came down to the real world? 

Not so much. 

Being fair, her high school days  _ had _ been checkered with violence. There was, however, a marked difference between beating down a pack of dumb, bigoted kids with something to prove and  _ threatening Tony fucking Stark. _ Most notably? Racists and transphobes didn't tend to wear full body armor. They fought with their fists, not  _ death lasers _ .

She'd thrown herself into organizing the house, hoping that everything would turn out okay. 

“You do know that was Iron Man on the phone, yesterday?” Will seemed like a nice enough guy. He'd understood her alarm - people in general weren't supposed to know that their little family was about fifty percent extraterrestrial. 

She groaned, flopping onto the couch. “Yeah.”

Abby sent a wash of reassurance through their bond, and Leslie beckoned, vaguely. The snake she’d modeled herself after was a spitting cobra, and her blunt snout pushed forward, up against Leslie's palm, before coiling around her wrist. 

“Do you actually have any kind of plan to back up what you said?” He reached for a slice of pizza - the fourth pizza was still mostly intact, with a fifth, sixth, and seventh waiting in the wings. The three different pizza guys had stopped by in rapid succession, narrowly missing one another. 

Will had been helping. It was only fair that she pay him in food. Plus, he didn't freak out about Abby, even after their little mind-meld adventure. Leslie didn't know exactly what had happened with that, but Abby reassured her that she'd fixed something that was broken.

The details weren't that important. 

Leslie had found that was the best way to deal with her life, these days. She asked exactly enough questions to know whether or not she was going to have to deal with anything, and then she ignored the rest. 

Maybe that was where Dawn went wrong - she was too damn curious for her own good. She wanted to know every little thing about everything. Eddie, too - in fact, from what Leslie had gathered, that was actually literally how he'd managed to ruin his life. He'd asked the wrong questions of the wrong guy, and the very next day his whole world fell to pieces. 

“Nope,” Leslie said with a weary, lopsided grin. “I guess step one would be to get to New York, since my guess is he's keeping them in that tower of his,” she gestured vaguely. 

Will raised an eyebrow. “Except for the fact that the Avengers Tower was sold months ago, sure.”

“What, really? Man, I’m  _ really _ not cut out for this superhero crap.”

He laughed, softly. “You do seem to be the odd one out. How did you end up - ” He gestured vaguely with the half-eaten pizza slice. “Mixed up in all of this?”

“Mm, got kicked out of the house. I was making it work, selling plasma, doing freelance tech shit, whatever, and I figured with the kind of money LIFE was offering, I could get a couple months ahead on my rent. Easy money, you know?” She sighed, scratching Abby's head gently. “Joke's on me. The kid busted us all out - shattered all the glass on that floor, actually - because she got hungry. We all were, really; symbiotes are basically always _pits of endless ravening._ ” She threw the obscure reference in, knowing full well the guy wouldn't get it.

Will looked surprised, which, yeah, come to think of it, that story probably seemed a bit weird from the outside. His expression went thoughtful, though, like the gears were turning. “Shattered?”

“It's like, something about vibrations, I guess? LIFE did something to these little guys, altered them or something, so they've got all the crap V can do - which is a lot - and then their own unique talents.” 

She snagged another slice of pizza. 

“Abby’s good with chemicals. She can break ‘em down, put them back together. It's useful if I've gotta get stains out of something, but otherwise not too impressive in our day-to-day life. Sunny can … I dunno, control how they move, better than most, down to the molecular level. It's uhh - not something I ever asked them to elaborate on. Dawn calls it singing, because sounds are a kind of vibration, but it's not the whole of it.”

Also, Dawn didn't know that many songs.

He raised an eyebrow. “So literally just hit the high note and break the wine glass?”

“Hah. Not quite, but that's one way to think of it. Eddie likes to give her shit - back when they first met, she was super skittish, and when she freaked out that first time, she screamed exactly right to knock him out.” She grinned, wickedly. “From what I hear, that's how she got her ‘hero’ name.”

Will shook his head, watching Abby roll down Leslie's arm to steal another slice. “And you all just … decided, you've got all this power, you're going to do some kind of good with it?”

“Well, Eddie and Dawn did. Lash and I? We'll settle for ‘not evil.’ Leave hero-ing to the heroes, you know?” She twirled her fingertip idly. “I mean, if some kind of trouble comes my way, I'll do my best to sort it out. Someone robs a bank I'm at, maybe Abby gets a free meal out of it, but for the most part?” She shrugged. 

He still seemed incredulous. “I guess it's just my job - I work with the FBI. Every day it feels like there's another murder. Every murder is more pointless than the last, and none of them even  _ need _ to kill for any reason.”

“I mean, once we figured out what was up with our little buddies, we stopped ‘needing,’ so ….”

He waved his hand, dismissively. “Too many people wouldn't even try to target ‘bad guys,’ much less work to fix the underlying problem.”

“You know, I really feel like that's your job talking, there, and it’s sounding like you're overdue for a vacation. Lash, you mind taking the box to the trash? There's a good boy,” she crooned, opening pizza number five. Lasher delicately collected the remains of the previous box, crushing it in his tentacles until it barely resembled a box, before setting it gently into the trash. “Most people are decent enough. The overwhelming majority of people are pretty much neutral - they’re not demons or saints, they're just people trying to get by.”

He reached for another slice, thinking it over. Lasher grabbed one too, carefully separating it out with his tentacles before chowing down greedily. “So, you're trying to say that you're just - totally normal, in spite of everything?”

“I mean, in that respect, I guess?” She shrugged. “Society wouldn't work if it was all about the angels and demons, and I've got enough bullshit on my plate just trying to keep us all fed. Besides,  _ somebody _ has to keep things running around here while everybody else goes off to play hero or get kidnapped or what the fuck ever else.”

He laughed. “That's fair.”

Her phone rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Abby dutifully snagged it from her pocket, holding it up with her tail. Dawn.

She swallowed heavily. “I've - I've gotta take this.” She let it go to voicemail. The call disconnected immediately, and it rang again. This time, she answered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me for the better part of a week. Props if you got the [extremely obscure reference](http://thelittlestmurloc.tumblr.com/post/39069990648/part-1) but it’s okay if you did not.
> 
> It was a good story, though, all spooky and Silent Hill meets Warcraft. If you've got some spare time, maybe check it out.


	23. Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scream is devoted.

**DAWN!**

She got the feeling that Sunny had been calling her name for quite a while now, but she had been asleep. At least, she was fairly certain she had been asleep.

Everything burned. The Eye stared down, blood-swollen and cruel, upon the End. 

_ Morning, love. _

They swarmed up her chest, wrapping dozens of tentacles around every inch of her skin, under, over, inside and out.  **YOU WERE DEAD. WE WERE SCARED. NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.**

She tried to sit up and found herself bound to a table. A vague frown touched her lips, but the straps weren't  _ too _ strong. It wasn't hard to slice them open with a bit of sharpened red. “We didn't exactly plan to die,” she murmured, inspecting the sensors on her arms, the IV with the empty bag. Thin bands of gold gently peeled away the needle, her skin sealing itself easily, and then each of the icky-sticky sensors on her chest and in her hair line and  _ eugh _ .

The monitor started screaming at her, and she couldn't tell if it was Sunny's headache or her own. It didn't matter for long: thick red tentacles ripped through the offending monitor. She winced at the sparks, but at least it didn't hurt their head anymore.  **Love you,** Sunny chirped. 

_ Worth it.  _

A woman's voice laughed, muffled, at the destruction. It came from the direction she sensed V, but Eddie was Very Male. What? 

Running footsteps, heavy footsteps.

_ I am Iron Man. _ The face of Tony Stark, but he looked smaller than he had on TV. A lot less certain of himself, too. Maybe that had something to do with his arm being in a sling. 

Didn't he kill them? 

**He felt bad about it,** Sunny grumbled, before brightening.  **Fed us good! We ate lots. We should eat him. He hurt us.**

_ No, love. We’ll hear him out. _

**For now, okay.**

“Hullo.” She looked to the destroyed monitor. “Sorry.”

Tony Stark looked between her and the monitor - back to her, back to the monitor, then over to the woman in the glass room. The woman was laughing and pretending not to laugh, both actions an elaborate lie. 

_ She has V.  _ **_Safe. For now._ **

“It's - fine. Fine. You did that?” He gestured at the monitor, then ran his hand through his hair. 

She nodded, solemnly. “Was loud. Don't like loud.”

And he laughed, a little hysterically, like that was the funniest explanation she could come up with for destroying expensive medical equipment. The woman snorted, too.

“Don't mind him,” the woman said with a smile playing at her lips. “He's had a rough - decade? Or so.”

She regarded the Iron Man. It couldn't have been  _ that _ hard, she reasoned: he was only a hero because he had money. He had never been homeless in his life, so far as she knew. “Sorry for you. Can we have chocolate? And a shower?”

He recovered quickly enough, but he was looking at her now. 

“Is there something on our face?” She frowned, reaching up to touch her own skin. Her fingers landed in the sticky goop - ew. Gold swirled against it, drawing it in, and she gagged.  _ Ew _ .

He watched, and she started to feel itchy under his eyes. “Sorry, no, it's just - you know you should be dead right now, right?”

“Tony!” The strange woman sounded exasperated.  _ “Really?” _

Dawn tilted her head to the side. “Your fault.” He flinched at that, but he didn't refute it. “Anyway, _not_ dead. Would like to be clean, now. Where are our clothes, please?”

She had a little shirt on, like people wear in the hospital, like Dan had her wear when he did the checkup, but she hadn't dressed herself like that. It didn't really bother her, but other people got weird about naked skin, and the stupid shirt didn't cover enough. 

Sunny formed into a tank top, a soft, pastel yellow with reddish leggings. It wasn't a flawless reproduction - V was better at that - but it would do.  _ Thank you.  _

**Love you.**

_ Love us. _

“You know what? I can do that. Uh, before that, though, you mind calling somebody? Your, uh, your sister sounded pretty serious about the death threat, is all.” He gestured vaguely, pulling Dawn's phone out of his pocket. “Something about a life debt?”

Gold reached out, delicately plucking the phone from his fingers. He shuddered at that, making a face. “Do you have to? With the tentacles? It's weird.”

“You're weird,” she replied, absently flipping through her contacts. Leslie. She set the phone to ring, waited for voicemail, hung up, and called again. 

It was a little signal, between them. No voicemail, not on the first try. 

“Dawn?” She sounded like she wasn't sure. 

Dawn smiled. “Hullo.” Sunny formed their own little maw, a little, blobby head that they held up to the microphone.  **“Hi! Not dead! We ate good food! Dawn is also not dead!”**

Tony looked kind of horrified, running his hand down his face. The woman laughed out loud, and it wasn't even lying.

“That's - that's great, Sunny. Where's Eddie and V, can you put them on, too?” She sounded happy, so happy she could burst. And yet, there was strain there, which made sense, if she'd threatened Iron Man.

And Dawn finally looked over to where she felt V. They had folded themself inside an even smaller host, a fake-blonde almost as short as Dawn was. The lady raised an eyebrow. Dawn slid off the bed and padding her way over to the cell. “V?”

They pushed out from the woman's skin, smiling. It was hard to make distinctive expressions with that many teeth, but their eyespots crinkled to show kindness. 

Sunny shared the image of Tony Stark nearly jumping out of his own skin, because that was too funny to miss. Dawn grinned broadly, glancing over her shoulder. He was being dramatic, holding his chest. 

_ He has power here. We play along, until we can escape.  _

**With Venom?**

_ Or without. They think they're good. They won't hurt our family, and we can regroup, recover, and rescue everybody.  _

**Again.** Sunny sighed, exasperated. 

**“Hello Scream,”** V rumbled, and it felt so good to hear their voice; she'd missed her family.  **“Hello, Agony. We are safe.”**

They never  _ had _ gotten a chance to talk, and V was still overflowing this new lady. 

“Eddie?” Leslie asked, uncertainly.

V looked towards a more distant cell.  **“He is sleeping off the trauma. We were separated.”**

“God, that sucks. I'm sorry, V. I'd send you guys a ‘get well soon’ card, but I don't even know where they took you.”

“And you won't, Miss, uh, Jess-nair-ee-ah? Is that how it's pronounced?” Tony was inspecting a little hologram off of his smartphone. “On account of the death threats. Are we good?”

Leslie sounded irritable. “When are you returning my family members, Mister Stark?”

“Dunno, I'll keep you posted. Buh-bye~!” He tapped something on his own phone, and the call dropped abruptly. Dawn narrowed her eyes at that. V clicked their teeth, irritably. The strange woman reached up, absently caressing V's cheek, and they dove into her skin.

Her cell service was just gone - the phone wasn't receiving any signal at all.

“So it's like this, girls and blobs,” Tony was all forced smiles, even as V stared him down. “Your powers are well above the baseline everyday human, which means, legally, there's special rules that govern people like you.”

The strange woman covered her face with her hand. “Tony …”

“Nat, you've seen these things operate. If they go rogue, people  _ will _ die.”

It was nice of him to assume that people hadn't already died, she supposed.  **We hurt him, he didn't like that. Is he going to cut us up and stare at us?**

_ No, sunshine. Won't let him, even if he tries.  _

**He won last fight.**

She didn't have a response for that. 

“What rules, please?”

He slapped a book full of papers onto her bed. At least, she figured it was her bed, the bed she was assigned. “The Sokovia Accords. Rules drafted to protect the public from people like you - and your friends.”

“We will talk to our lawyer, first, thank you. Is that everything? May we leave?” 

She couldn't exactly go very far wearing the hospital shirt, so she took it off.  _ Get rid of the goo, please. Don't eat it. _

**Won't. Gross.**

He stared at her like she had two heads, but she didn't, because Sunny had hidden themselves under her skin. “I don't think you understand - ”

She felt Sunny shift the goo around, off of her skin, and onto the ground beside her with a wet splat.  _ Good, thank you. _

**Welcome.**

“Okay,” she said simply. She returned to the bed, sitting next to the packet of papers. She turned her back to him, inspecting her phone. The one with the birds didn't need internet. She loaded it up, turning up the volume. 

The man looked like he wanted to say a lot of things. He opened his mouth. 

“Not listening,” she announced.

The lady grinned. “I like her, Tony.”

“Oh, so now that you don't need my rescue, now you turn on me! I see how it is.” He looked very exasperated, to Sunny's limited senses. “Fine. Okay. Have it your way. What's your lawyer's name, kid?”

She flipped through her contacts, the music from her game stopping abruptly. “Anne Weying.” She rattled off Annie's number, just in case the great Tony Stark didn't know how to use Google.

“Great. Just great.” He muttered a lot of things along those lines, leaving the room. A minute later, he was no longer audible. The door clicked when it closed, locking. 

Dawn looked to the woman, tilting her head. “We're going to check on Eddie, now,” she announced. 

**Iron Man won't like this.**

_ His problem.  _

“By all means, I'm in no position to stop you.” ‘Nat’ held her hands up, smirking softly. 

Dawn smiled, walking over to the cell opposite from V and the strange lady. “I wouldn't do that, if I were you.” A new strange-woman's voice spoke. She looked pretty, in a shadowy sort of way, all made up of numbers and TV static. 

“If you plan to stop us, please don't hurt V, thank you.” Her brain wanted to fall apart, a little bit, but  _ not right now.  _

She splayed strands of gold across the glass, considering.  _ We could sing, _ she offered, idly.

Sunny sent the memory, their fight with Iron Man, working their tendrils in between the little machines that made up his armor. “You know, I  _ like _ singing,” she said with a faint pout. 

Still, they pushed their tendrils into the space between each tiny particle of glass. It was pretty, like marbling in a cake, or that one really awful cheese, maybe. The faintest vibration shook it all apart, huge chunks of glass falling around her. “Boots, please, thank you.”

Red swirled around her feet, shielding them. The lady behind her clapped, and it wasn't even a lie. “Don't like these science people,” Dawn offered. “Glass is easy.”

“Well, to be fair to Tony, it  _ is _ bulletproof.”

She shrugged slightly. “So was his armor.”

The lady laughed, softly.

“Eddie?” He still hadn't woken up. “Sunny, do you think …?”

The eye sprawled along the back wall. Her heart jumped into her throat, but she ignored it. “Let them watch,” she muttered. “We aren't doing anything wrong.”

Okay.  _ Okay.  _ Inhale, exhale. “Well, now I feel dumb.” Sunny surged forward, pushing out of her body, into Eddie’s.  _ Come back soon, love.  _

**Will do, love you.**

And she stepped back, away from the glass. The dull roar, the background static she used to deal with, it all surged back to the fore.

Naked, she was naked, that was bad. 

“Gonna - gonna sit down now,” she mumbled, and without Sunny, she didn't have the courage not to shrink back from the Eye. Without Sunny, there was a lot less focus in her brain, because she couldn't shut it all out. 

The woman was there, she was talking through the glass. “Woah, kid - are you okay?”

She looked at the strange lady, shaking her head, hesitantly. No, no, she wasn't okay, but it was okay, because she didn't have to be. Her eyes landed on the paper-book and she smirked slightly, before covering her mouth, because it was funny. It was stupid, but funny. 

“Can't sign now, no way, no how, means nothing, is nothing,  _ am _ nothing.”

She settled down in the corner, curling up, arms around her legs, folded into a neat little ball. Out of the way, unimportant, a little ball of dirt, a jar of dirt, guess what's inside it - nothing, nothing at all, because she was empty, an empty glass. 

Oh, the lady was talking, up against the glass, right next to her head. The words were pretty, but they had no sense to them. 

She rocked slowly, back and forth, back and forth, humming quietly to herself, a soothing lullabye, the song from before, the one Leslie played when she was a rabbit or a cat or a bear, except not a cat and not a bear. 

Maybe she was overdue to fall apart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunny helps to manage Dawn's symptoms. That doesn't mean they're gone, it just means they're usually being suppressed.
> 
> Hi I'm very tired because I woke up early, and I'm not convinced I'll be awake to post this on Friday properly so here y'go.


	24. Borrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eddie awakens and Dawn goes back to sleep.

**Eddie~**

The ‘voice’ was familiar, belonging to Sunny. He groaned, feeling like shit, as he sat up. They’d tickled the back of his brain until he woke up, and now he was awake. Okay, then. 

“Dawn?” He asked, voice scratchy. He remembered - nothing good.  _ Is she …? _

**Not dead.**

He could hear her humming, over the ringing in his ears. It was that song, the one from the game Leslie liked. Sunny sent a feeling that honestly felt like nothing so much as elevator music, an hourglass next to a cursor, a progress bar.  _ Please wait while your body knits itself back together.  _ He'd had a few bruises, some bleeding in his brain, his ears had been completely shot, but hey, still alive. Fuck yeah. 

_ Why …? _ Why were they in  _ his _ head? He knew just how much Dawn needed them. 

But of course, she'd asked them to, hadn't she.  **We love you.**

_ Okay.  _ That wasn't enough, so he added:  _ Love you too, kiddo. _

“V?” He stood up, wobbling slightly. The ringing was loud, irritatingly so, but it was slowly mending itself. Or rather, Sunny was mending it. Christ, but if the world could stop spinning, that'd be great. 

A woman's voice responded. “They're here. With me. The kid too.” The humming stopped for a moment, and the woman breathed a sharp exhale of relief. “It's been like an hour of - this. V says she's - some kind of crazy? And her uh, symbiote, helps? Because this is pretty quickly driving me up the wall, but it's been this or screaming for the last hour and of the two - ”

“Do I  _ know _ you?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, squinting against the minor headache. 

Sunny was weirdly quiet, compared to V. Every little thing earned some kind of comment from the older Klyntar. The youth seemed content to listen and watch. When he asked the question, though, they offered up the memory, layered: Venom looking down at the little spy, Scream holding her hands with their tentacles.

She folded her arms, looking him up and down. “I imagine you know  _ of _ me,” she said finally. “They call me the Black Widow. Or they did, once.” 

_ Are you Eddie Brock?  _

_ I was, once.  _

**Sorry,** Sunny murmured, low in his mind.  **Patterns.**

The way Dawn's mind organized itself - and by extension, the patterns Sunny had learned to mimic - made no sense. And yet, they made all of the sense, a chain of associations, a string of similarities, patterns on patterns, but Sunny did it faster, helped her reach each jump just a little more quickly, so she could process things better. They simply made her a better version of herself, a more complete Dawn. 

Just like V did for Eddie.

He felt like he was trying on prescription sunglasses, except he'd never needed glasses in his life. But then, he'd also never needed antipsychotics, and it was becoming abundantly clear that Sunny had been serving as the anchor that kept Dawn stable. 

“ _ The _ Black Widow? Not gonna lie, kind of a fan. What I saw, you kicked some major ass in the big apple. And uh, Sokovia, wasn't it?” He rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear out his head. “And the shit you said in DC?  _ Damn _ .”

The humming began again. “Dawn - honey - ” The Widow sounded pained, kneeling next to the kid, and she looked at her with an odd mix of frustration and fondness. Black and white flickered across her eyes - Eddie could see that V had bonded with her, even if Sunny hadn't been able to confirm it.  _ That _ would be a story to tell. “She's not listening - honestly, I'm not actually sure if she can hear me.”

**We remember when she forgets,** Sunny murmured, and their voice remained small and sad. They hated seeing Dawn like this - they knew she was so much more than just being sick, but it was still a part of her. At least they enjoyed the pattern to the song; Dawn loved it, too. She loved music.  **Sounds nice, like sunset. The woman.** A nagging thread of impatient anxiety worked through them.  **You're fixed. Okay?** They wanted to  _ go home _ , to settle in around their preferred-host.

_ Please, _ Eddie thought softly.  _ She needs you. _

“Heyyy, kiddo.” He knelt next to Dawn, but there was no glass between them. She'd destroyed that barrier. 

She looked up at him, surprise on her face, and then her expression lit up, and she wrapped him in a hug. “Dad,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, kiddo.” Eddie pressed a kiss against her temple. “Thank you.”

Sunny surged through the space between them, finding their proper home in among Dawn's bones, and God, but Eddie felt empty right then. 

She - they - yawned, their eyes fluttered, and Dawn was unconscious, wrapped from crown to toes in Sunny's essence. 

He picked her body up effortlessly, sitting her on the table. Sunny opened their eyespots for a moment, handing over the packet of papers they'd laid down on. He checked the title page. The Sokovia Accords. Eddie made a face, tossing them toward the farthest corner of the room. That done, Scream curled up on the bed, cocooning themselves onto the table. 

“Not a fan, I take it?”

“Lemme ask you a question - uh, d’you want me to call you Widow? Black Widow’s kind of a mouthful - ” He settled onto the bed next to the golden blob-cocoon that was Scream. Sunny formed a small head somewhere near Dawn's side, their eyespots showing their interest in the conversation.

She considered, then seemed to come to a decision. “Call me Nat.”

“Nat, then. When this shit first got announced, literally half of the Avengers failed to sign, and almost immediately, they all got dumped into a supermax prison, the kind of place where they throw away the key. And that's the  _ Avengers, _ right, Earth's mightiest heroes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Now, I dunno about you, being that I hear you  _ did _ sign, but imagine how that sounds to me. We barely even make the minimum qualifications for this freakshow as Venom, but like, what even  _ is _ the threshold? Are we getting locked up for a parking ticket? Put away for life on a shoplifting charge? There's all these regulations for us ‘powerful’ individuals, and exactly no protections. So no, I’m not a fan.”

She listened, head tilted to the side. “I signed,” she said, chewing absently on her lower lip, “Because it was a matter of damage control. If we went along with it, I thought, we could keep something worse from being done  _ to _ us.” Her words came slow, sounding slightly distracted. “Do they  _ ever _ shut up?”

Black and white flickered across her eyes. 

“Nope,” Eddie replied, grinning. “You get used to it after a while.”

A shadow gathered across her chest, before bursting outward, seeping through her shirt.  **“EDDIE. EDDIE WE ARE NOT GOING TO BE LOCKED AWAY AGAIN. TELL HER, EDDIE. WE'RE LEAVING, RIGHT NOW. EDDIE!”**

They'd forgotten what their ‘inside voice’ sounded like, genuinely alarmed by the prospect of the Raft - and for good reason. 

“Ah, hell - no, V, we're not gonna get ourselves locked up, I promise. We're just gonna play along until they let us go, all right?” He put on that Eddie Brock charm, wishing he could send them his calm. “Those rules aren't really for civilians like us, big guy, unless you plan to trade up after all?”

Assuming they could stay fully within the letter of the law … they'd have to work on that.

V flinched, but the old argument - the idea that they'd leave forever - that wasn't scary. It was old ground, and easy to refute. Their panic thinned.  **“Never leave. Safer for us, for our Eddie, like this. For now. But not forever.”**

“They really love you,” the Widow murmured, and she sounded genuinely touched by it. He still wasn't sure how he felt about having the attention of an international superspy, but given the situation with his beloved, it at least seemed plausible. 

Otherwise, he'd have figured he was dreaming. 

Eddie gave her a lopsided smile. “Well, it's mutual. V's the best thing that ever happened to me, and not just because my life is a train wreck, you know?”

**“We are the best,”** V agreed, and they rolled their head around, under, over. Now that the immediate panic had worn off, they wrapped themself loosely around the Widow's shoulders, softening the edges of their form. They'd apparently gotten comfortable with one another, and Eddie did his best to not feel jealous.  **“We are Venom. Better when whole. Safer now, but better together.”**

The Widow smiled, patting an errant tendril with one hand. “We're stuck here anyway - why don't you guys tell me about that?” She wasn't even trying to disguise the play for information, but they didn't have much to lose by telling her the truth, did they? “Out loud, please. And - okay, no, I don't need the intimate details, either - ” 

Was it a compliment if Eddie caught a hint of a blush on her cheeks? He decided to take it as one, and tried not to imagine whatever V was trying to show her. 

“Well,” Eddie began. “So, I got roped into doing an exclusive interview with this hotshot scientist guy, right, Carlton Drake ….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure most people in this fandom don't need a written summary of Venom (2018) _again_ but Nat wants to hear it from Eddie's perspective.


	25. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Agony and Lasher entertain guests.

Leslie woke to the bone-deep knowledge that she was going to have to  _ deal with _ something, and she groaned, burying her face in the pillow. 

“Five more minutes,” she grumbled, as Abby nudged Lash awake, too. Yeah, he had a dog bed downstairs, but fuck it, she liked cuddling with the big oaf, and he didn't like being alone. 

**Regret/apology.**

The sense of imminent danger flooded her senses, and she groaned, rolling out of bed. “All right, all right, what's going down - ”

The image of masked, armored assholes, gathered outside the shitty, probably-not-haunted-enough house. 

_ Fuck.  _

Violet swarmed up her legs and arms. “Can we do the thing Sunny does, make it look like we're invisible?”

**Acknowledgement,** and then her hands swirled, mimicking the patterns of the world around her. 

_ Badass, thanks. _

She reached for Lash, touching his side.  _ I'm gonna need you to do something scary and dangerous for me.  _ She kind of hated herself for even thinking it.  _ You're faster than we are, and smaller, harder to hit. I need you to make a diversion. Lure them out, but don't let yourself get hit. Okay? If they're here, they're here for us, they know what we are and what will work against us, so don't get hit.  _

He licked her face, waiting patiently as Abby translated everything. 

A question asked. 

**Affirmation.**

_ Anyone tries to kill you, you kill them back. If we're killing them anyway, then they might as well be food. _

She found the idea repulsive, but it was more because she preferred her food to be a) cooked, b) not sourced from humans, and c) with as little personal investment involved as possible. This would be a downright ridiculous amount of effort, for a meal that would basically end up being a meat smoothie, and every part of that was nasty. 

Abby sent another wave of apology. 

_ No, sweetheart, it's not your fault these assholes are here. Their actions - their fault.  _

**“We ready?”** She breathed it in a whisper at the top of the stairs. 

Lash offered a quiet boof of agreement, as the back door burst off its hinges.

He was a writhing knot of teeth and tendrils, dashing down the stairs at top speed, snarling aggressively and drawing their fire. The sonic weaponry blasted a grating note, but it never actually hit him, and they didn't know to attack Agony yet. 

She leaped, landing on top of the last guy in line, and it was pathetically easy to seize both sides of his head and just twist it until his faceplate was on the back of his head, his bones shattering with a sickening pop. 

The others didn't notice at first. She drove her claws through the second-to-last guy's back, and he screamed. Oh, that was his lung, not his heart. She shredded his flesh, seizing around his spine like a particularly elusive cable behind a particularly stubborn screen. A sharp yank dragged the entire thing out in something of a u shape, his body bending obscenely to accommodate the removal. Bones popped, cartilage snapped, and then his spine ripped completely free of his flesh.

He was screaming, right up until the end. To Agony, he sounded like  _ prey _ .

That was significantly easier than she'd expected. She hadn't really pieced together just how strong she actually was, like this - they so rarely allowed themselves to assume this shape. They discarded the spine idly. A sense of danger, and they narrowly avoided the blast of sonic energy, the shrill notes still jarring even though they didn't quite land a direct hit. 

Something shifted inside of them, and the world went eerily silent. Her body felt bloated, somehow, like all of her muscles had been replaced by expanding foam. They had a different vantage point now, a bit taller. It hurt, and holding that shape felt like holding their breath, but the sonic weaponry lost its edge. 

And they grinned.

Abby had done something to her own body, something that deadened the noise they could perceive. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't have to be. 

Unlike Scream, after all, Agony didn't usually have to fight.

She bared their fangs in a hiss, spraying the acidic mix across everyone gathered in the kitchen. They could sense Lash - he was tearing through the main area, making a mess of things and generally having a good time. 

By the way these men were clawing at themselves, they were  _ not _ having a good time. 

_ That was amazing, sweetheart. _

**Warmth/love.**

_ You, too. _

Their tongue lashed out, snatching up one gooey, struggling man. Everywhere they touched, the melting only got worse, but that was fine. It made him struggle less, and like this, it even tasted okay. They drew him all the way into their maw, slurping up the gooey remains, and that was actually pretty satisfying, like a milkshake, maybe, except meat flavored. Some of his bones still had a little crunch, but nothing too bad.

_ Think I still prefer pizza.  _

A sense that could only translate as  **agreement,** particularly accompanied by a slideshow of Abby's favorites. (She loved anything with jalapeños on it. Something about the seeds, and the burning juices found in peppers of all shapes and sizes.)

_ Let's help Lash mop up the bad guys.  _

**AGREEMENT.**

* * *

“You're late to the party,” she called, sitting on a folding chair in the driveway. Lash was resting next to her, head on his paws. He was sleeping off the meal he'd eaten, the greedy glutton. He'd earned it, though. “Did you know they give mooks flamethrowers, these days?”

A car was rolling up the driveway, the kind of fancy thing that she would never be able to afford. 

Tony Stark looked up at the blaze from the safety of his car, apparently not entirely comprehending. His arm was in a cast, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked like, without the fancy suit he was wearing (a three-piece, dressy affair that was decidedly _not_ a humanoid tank), she could probably have counted his ribs.

“I can see that,” the man replied, remaining inside the vehicle. “I could see that from the bug I left, actually. Did you plan to do anything about the fact that your house is on fire?”

Her phone, her laptop, and Dawn's running bag (plus the other three bottles of phenylethylamine in the house) were there. She'd sent a text to Will, telling him that they were okay, since it seemed like he might want to know.

She'd wanted to save more of her own stuff, but by the time she'd gotten these essentials, the blaze had spread too far, and she'd kind of decided to let it.

Hell, she was still in her pajamas. At least Abby could impersonate clothes for her. 

Tony's driver had a distinctly MIB sort of look, in a pudgy sort of way. The man rushed to open the door for Tony with the kind of deference that Leslie officially could not be fucked to imitate, even if she wanted to.

She shrugged, uncertainly. “I dunno if calling 911 for help with the blaze is worth getting locked up for dealing with the people who started it,  _ Mister Stark.” _ She looked back at the fire, idly. “So I figured I'd give it a bit, let the acid and all kind of - sort itself out.”

“So you're just … admitting to killing those guys.” He gestured vaguely at the house. 

Warmth was still pooling in her belly. Abby had fed well, the house had been insured, and Anne was a wizard with paperwork. It would all work out, probably. 

She leaned back in the chair, folding her hands behind her head. “Never said that. Besides, they broke into my house,  _ our _ house, with the intent to kill us or worse. I just explained to them the error of their ways. Let me ask you a question, Mister Stark. If - in this hypothetical situation you put forth - I did kill these guys? Wouldn't that be self defense?” She raised an eyebrow. “And can you really say you'd do any different?”

Was that guilt in his expression?  _ It was!  _

“Look, I'm not even here about that. I … figured you could use a ride.” He glanced back at the car. “It's cheaper than an Uber, and the dog can come, too.”

**Mistrust/disquiet.**

_ Agreement. _

“So is this the part where your sudden but inevitable betrayal happens, or is this the part where you take me to see my family, Mister Stark?” She folded her arms, making no move to get up. 

He tilted his head to the side. “I probably deserved that. This is the part where I make things right.”

**_Acceptance._ **

“Well fuck. Almost sorry I wore my Team Cap PJs, then.” She offered a lopsided grin, standing.

Abby could sense the intent behind things.

Whatever else? 

He wasn't lying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that the author has too much empathy to pick one side or another in Civil War.
> 
> It's what makes me a good mediator. ♡
> 
> So, hey, at least nobody who matters was seriously injured in this chapter, and they can modernize things a bit.
> 
> I borrowed some bits from [Bakageta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakageta/pseuds/Bakageta)'s fantastic "[More Us Every Day,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797247)" notably the thing where Agony shook off the soundwaves ... and something a couple chapters down the line.


	26. Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an effort is made.

_ Bayu bayushki bayu …. _

V had not known the song had lyrics, but apparently, it did. The Widow - who had no true name of her own, but accepted the nickname ‘Nat’ from her friends - had once known the words, because the song had been sung to her as a child. 

She had forgotten this. She had claimed that the melody itself was driving her mad, but it was the tug of memory.

Their preferred-host had told the story of their joining with gusto, and they'd listened. They liked to hear Eddie speak, because they liked everything about Eddie, and his voice was part of ‘everything.’ Nat listened, too, her own memories of the events coming from the grainy film of the security feed.

For once, the lobster tank went unmentioned. Anne wasn't here to tell that little tale, and V decided to let Eddie keep a shred of dignity, even if it was a lie because their Eddie was an undignified  _ mess. _

Throughout the story, though, the ghost of memory pulled at Nat's mind, playing between the threads of a melody she couldn't quite remember, but hadn't fully forgotten.

Sunny helped Eddie move all of the broken glass into a neat pile in the corner, and then he laid down to get some sleep. V fretted, knowing that he slept better with their help, and Nat continued to gnaw at the melody. 

She did some exercises, keeping her body in good shape. They weren't the same movements Eddie made, and she had no weights, but the purpose was similar enough. They sent her the same surge of  _ reward _ that they'd learned to feed Eddie, when he remembered to take care of himself, and received a confused, distracted, wordless sense of gratitude for the sensation. They nibbled at the tasty chemicals her brain produced in turn, and all the while, the song played in the back of her head, not quite completely audible. 

V took to prodding at it, too. The memory tasted warm, almost-familiar, and  _ happy _ .

She showered in the small, private bathroom attached to the observation room, cleaning away the sweat and basking in the heat and wetness that humans craved. When their partnership with Eddie had been new, he forbade them from participating in shower time because it was  _ intimate _ . They figured that those rules were now in effect, though Nat saw her body as merely an extension of the weapon that she had been made into. 

**Nat?** They asked, as she settled back onto her bed.

She sounded relaxed, content.  _ Hm? _

**What is (the Gray Wolf?)** They drew up the concept from the song. The words were not English, but Nat understood them, so V understood them.  **It is from the lullabye.**

Understanding hit her hard, and yet, she only lost her composure for the space of a single breath.  _ Humans tell those kinds of stories to keep their children safe. Kids get scared of the unknown, same as adults, and they stay at home, where they're in less danger.  _

**So it is a lie with truth in it?** Eddie had explained that idea - humans told fictional stories that softened the edges of the truths that were written into the lie. They couldn't sense falsehoods in the way Klyntar could, so they learned to read a whole code of secret meanings in the way things were said, and the words left unsaid.  **There is no Gray Wolf, but human children are small and weak, and the danger is real even if the source is false?**

_ Yeah, something like that, _ she agreed.  _ You'll have to forgive me if I'm not as - let’s call it cultured - as Eddie is.  _

They sent a sense not unlike a shrug, tugging lightly at the muscles of her shoulders in an almost-gesture.  **No two hosts are the same. Each has strengths. Each has weaknesses. We keep the best traits, carry them forward.**

_ Oh? What did you keep from Eddie? _ She glanced over at the man, who was curled fitfully around his pillow. V yearned to reach out and comfort him, and they knew that their love bled through the link.  _ He's strong enough to make it through the night without you, which means it's not an emergency.  _

They huffed a sigh, rolling her question within their essence.  **Compassion,** they responded finally.  **He is a loser, like us. His life was** **_bad_ ** **. But -** they interrupted themselves, using the space between words to emphasize the importance of the next statement. They were learning to communicate like humans.  **No matter how bad, he never stopped trying to make life better for everyone else. He went to LIFE to die in the best way he could manage, doing something good for other people.**

The Widow calculated. They had learned that ‘Nat’ was a kind of mental construct, a facsimile of the Widow, but more human. The Widow noted Eddie's suicidal ideation and marked it down, compared it with V's habit of giving constant positive reinforcement, and concluded that they were good for him. 

In that moment, she knew how to break their Eddie with a handful of words, and yet - the Nat-facsimile, the mental construct, that was the person the Widow wished to be. The Widow knew all the ways she could hurt, break, or even end her associates. If it ever became necessary, it was good, useful information to have. She would be ready in case they ever went rogue. The Nat-construct just ... never wanted to use that information. 

**Humans are not meant to be (expendable),** they concluded. 

She actually snorted aloud at that.  _ What gave it away? Was it the lifetime of conditioning? _

The Red Room was a place made of pain. It broke every human who entered. The ones who survived were stronger for it, each reforged into weapons without compare. 

The Black Widow  _ had _ no comparison. Though she was not quite physically as impressive as the Hulk or this ‘Captain America,’ she was still far stronger than most humans, and more durable, as well. She wasn't as scientifically minded as the Iron Man or the human named Banner, but that did not mean she was stupid. The powers of Asgard were unavailable to humans; she might hold up in a fight against Thor or Loki if neither used their full range of abilities, but probably not. Her aim was impeccable, but no one was a better shot than Hawkeye.

What she  _ was _ , however, was subtle. In most circumstances, her job was to avoid serious fighting, either by stealth or subterfuge. If a fight broke out, especially if it was anywhere near an even match, she had alway failed in several critical tasks, as a general rule. 

Moreover, she could be anything, serve any role adequately. Her long life had never been spent idle, and she had collected an impressive assortment of skills. 

In a team like the Avengers, her most useful quality was her flexibility, and her most exceptional talent was her knowledge. Rather than science, she studied her people. She knew their strengths, their weaknesses, their foes, their allies. She could gauge what each individual’s breaking point was. She could pull even the most dangerous of them back from that precipice. 

And, like Scream, she was largely unbound by human morality. She knew what was necessary, and she did it. The end. 

_ It's good that Scream found someone like (you-and-Eddie/Venom) to guide them, _ Nat murmured, almost idly, turning their thoughts to their offspring (and away from herself). 

They allowed themself to be derailed.  **We do what we can,** they said simply.

_ No, really. _ She pressed. The image of hollow-eyed young girls flickered through her memories.  _ Without someone to show them the way, the best case scenario would have been if they starved to death.  _

The worst … well. More than a few sketchy organizations would be interested in the use of an amoral, malleable youth with superpowers. Their craving for human flesh could even be considered a bonus in such an environment. 

Nothing good would have come from that. 

**You look at Dawn and see someone you could have been,** they surmised. 

She considered that.  _ I look at Dawn and see the girls who didn't make the cut, _ she said finally.  _ The ones who ended up dying as themselves, rather than becoming the monsters we were made to be.  _

**But you are more than what they made you,** V murmured.  **Perhaps you are a monster, but that does not mean you cannot decide to be a person as well.** They tugged at her lips, forming a smile, and her brain tasted sweeter for the gesture.  **From a monster who is older than your entire planet: it is never too late to choose who you wish to be.**

_ I - thank you, _ Nat replied, and there was a moment of silence. 

The moment was broken by FRIDAY's heavily accented voice. “Message for you from Mister Stark. Shall I put it through?”

“Uh - ” Nat blinked. “Sure.” 

The walls tinted themselves black, and FRIDAY chirped: “Privacy mode engaged.”

She sat up, and a small panel on one of the glass walls lit with Tony's face. 

“Hey, Nat,” the man waved with his right hand; his left was now firmly encased in a cast. He still looked like an asshole, but a very tired one. “I'm not really good with the touchy-feely bullshit, so, uh, I'm just going to cut straight to the point. I - can't.” 

He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath. When he opened them, he looked  _ exhausted,  _ which was the word that Eddie used to mean ‘about one minute or so away from total mental collapse.’ “I can't pretend to be objective about this mission. I can't pretend I'm okay. I can't keep pretending that I'm not falling apart, because I damn near killed a kid - and a sick part of me keeps insisting that I should have finished the job.”

“So, uh, I'm getting help. I know, I know, it's about damn time. You'd like my new therapist, she's great. I think she might be a lesbian. I dunno. She's based out of D.C., which works out, since I've been bouncing between here and there ever since I signed the Accords. Anyway, your mission.” He snapped back to what he'd meant to say in the first place. “As far as I'm concerned, you're free to run it however. It’s pretty clear from the footage that the biggest threat these things pose at the moment is to my food budget. FRIDAY’s programmed to do the heavy lifting around the compound, just ask her for whatever you need.”

He blew a little kiss at the camera. “Love you like the really, incredibly scary big sister I never had. Try not to break anything.”

The recording finished. The door clicked to announce that it was open and unlocked. 

There was even a moment of completely dead silence. Then, FRIDAY dropped the other bombshell of the evening.

“The compound is now on lockdown. Security footage indicates that armed hostiles have begun to infiltrate the main building. Communications have been disrupted as of twenty seconds ago. Working to bring them back online.”

The gears turned in the Widow's mind. “Any identifying markers on these hostiles?”

“They appear to be members of the defunct organization, HYDRA.”

**Did they miss the memo to cease and desist their bad guy ways, because their organization shut down?** A pang of gnawing hunger rolled through them, and they accidentally stimulated their host’s salivary glands, imagining the crunch of bones and brains. Even breaking down the odd chunk of carbon sounded delightful.  **Can we eat them? All of them?**

Nat's lips twisted into an ironic smile. “Sure, big guy,” she murmured aloud. “Let's kill us some bad guys.”

They surged outward, sheathing her body. 

The Widow was subtle; they formed much closer to her skin, packing their mass more densely. She normally liked to use her sexual appeal as a distraction, but she anticipated that their shared appearance alone would be distracting. 

By which she meant terrifying.

They emphasized the almost-human features of their face, adding perhaps a few too many teeth, and dragged the lines of their eyespots all the way back. 

As  _ Venom, _ they had not felt any particular need for identifying markers. Their appearance was unique enough, on Earth. 

But Venom was sacred, because Eddie was everything to V. They took a cue from Scream, therefore, and formed a tell-tale red hourglass across their torso, another on their back. Color was simple - they shifted the color of their veins to match the same crimson as the hourglass. 

She wasn't as pliable as Eddie, and she was still  _ far _ stronger. If she fought them, it was likely that she'd end up breaking something, or incapacitating both of them at once. 

**We will be the Widow,** they declared.  **And … I will follow your lead.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that I've been out of one of my meds for about a week, don't really have a set beta reader, and do my own editing. Lmk if you trip over any errors.
> 
> \- faceplants into bed -
> 
> (Muffled) Oh, hey, I saw Into the Spiderverse. It was great. I loved it.


	27. Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dawn meets someone closer to her own age.

**Trouble.**

Sunny had already leveraged their body upright, their essence wrapping her skin. She felt groggy, more than a bit sleepy.

Gold caressed black; they reached for V instinctively.  **_Guide us._ **

The alarms weren't going off, a fact that bothered the Widow, because it meant something was deeply wrong. FRIDAY - it was an acronym or something - was trying to diagnose which of her systems were compromised, but -

_ \- alarms would only weaken you, _ Dawn pointed out, drawing on Sunny's clarity.  _ Tell her - um, any allies here?  _

The Widow seemed surprised, but took to the silent speech effortlessly.  _ FRIDAY says there's only one other combatant actually present. The rest are either on missions or missing. _

She caught an image, a young boy with messy brown hair, the memory tinged with affection. 

_ That is a kid. _ They'd seen the footage on YouTube, but they'd never put together the small size as a sign he was so young. 

**Like us?**

_ Actually, kind of. _ The Widow considered it for a moment - he was stronger, faster, and more durable than she was alone, which meant he would be an asset in a fight. That was why he was here, after all. 

Scream nodded.  **_Will collect the Spider-Man._ ** _ Tell FRIDAY not to play alarm sounds even when it's fixed. Won't be necessary.  _ **_Be back soon. Wake Eddie, not helpless._ ** They withdrew the gold, leaping to the ceiling, anchoring themselves easily. 

**“Dawn - Scream. Be careful.”**

They grinned, their skin shifting to match their surroundings.  **“Of course. You, too.”**

It would be so much better if V was inside of Eddie, not this spider lady - Eddie wasn't helpless, but he wasn't Venom on his own, and she had to be pretty amazing on her own, or she wouldn't be an Avenger.

Still, it would be okay. They'd make sure of it. 

They didn't really have a clear idea of where to go, which would have been a bigger flaw in their plan if the building had more people off on their own. As it was, there was only one empty glass in complete isolation, and she followed that sense. 

**Strong.**

_ Going to choose him over me? _ She asked it playfully, a smirk tugging at their maw as they dipped around the corner to dodge a group of prey. She could take them, but that would distract from her mission, wouldn't it?

Distantly, they heard screams, scented blood. Lights winked out in the darkness, and V swelled with the meal. 

**_They're going to spawn soon,_ ** they realized dimly.  **_Oh. That makes sense._ **

It would wait for later. It would have to. 

The Spider-Man slept in his boxers, sprawled across his entire bed. His eyes flew open, fixing on the darkness where they'd come to pause above him. He yelped, bouncing to the far corner of the room, his heart thundering so loudly they could  _ hear _ it. 

**“Oh, good. You're awake already. There's bad guys.”** They let themselves fall in a controlled tumble, their hair guiding their descent, and their camouflage faded into their normal coloration.  **“We're Scream. Please don't freak out,”** they added as an afterthought, seeing that he very much was on the edge of freaking out.  **“You need your clothes. Okay?”**

He stared at them, then at the door, which they'd closed, then at the window. He gradually relaxed enough to let himself slide down to the ground. “Y-yeah, okay, um, okay, do you mind - turning around?”

**“... okay, but that won't help.”** They could see clearly enough from every direction; the eyespots were mostly decorative. And for communication, because humans did a lot of nonverbal communication in their eyes. Still,  _ he _ didn't know that, and if it made him feel better to add more clothes with their back turned, they'd pretend they couldn't see.

He went to a dresser, drawing his suit out from where it was resting. “You, um, you probably know I'm Spider-Man, then. What kind of bad guys? I uh, I've never met you before, is all.” He pulled the outfit on, as he talked - other than the face mask, it was all one piece. “Also I'm pretty sure my door was locked?”

**“It was,”** they confirmed. Eddie had shown Dawn how to pick locks, but this had been an electronic … thing. They’d stabbed the locking mechanism, instead.  **“Bad guys.”** A deep breath, and they reached out their senses.  **“Lots.”** To their mind, it felt like a great feast, laid out before them, woven through with a thread of danger.  **“They have fire. That's bad.”** A faint frown tugged at their maw.

A shrill alarm sounded for a moment, the note jarring Sunny. They gave a full-body shudder, moving with the vibrations and dispersing them harmlessly. Then, the alarm cut, and they could smell/taste the distant wash of chemical flame suppressants.

Hopefully V hadn't been too injured. They still  _ felt _ healthy enough. 

“Was, uh, was that the fire alarm?” Spider-Man's voice was a bit muffled. “Don't those usually run longer than that?”

They shrugged slightly.  **“Better this way. Trust us. The Widow sent us. Follow, please.”**

Once again, they went up, clinging to the ceiling. The Spider-Man followed. “So, wait, how are you doing this? Everyone else seems to run around on the ground or fly, is all, you're the only other wall-crawler I've met.”

**“You talk too much.** (We got the idea from you, actually.) **Shh.”**

There was a layer of smoke, now, and the Spider-Man gagged, coughing. On the one hand, he stopped talking for a moment. On the other, that was probably not for the best. He fell, wheezing, and they caught him in their tendrils, realizing belatedly that his suit probably didn't handle the … whatever was in the smoke. “What the hell - It - it burns - ”

**“Got you - ”** Red swirled, bullets thudding against the impromptu shielding, and metal jingled as the spent ammunition hit the ground.  _ Can we give him some kind of mask? Just - use some of us, protecting his face but letting him breathe?  _

**Maybe.**

They held the red steady, as the distant voices got closer, slicing away a chunk of gold and molding it across his face. He gasped in air, and those mechanical eyespots looked relieved. A woman's voice spoke, too quiet for Dawn to hear exactly what she was saying. 

A roar struck the shield, and they were forced to retract their tendrils from the blast of flame. 

_ No time for finesse.  _

They jumped. Claws outstretched, they landed on the wall and it cracked with the force of their impact, drawing the fire away from the Spider-Man. Another leap, bounding forward on all fours. They pushed away from the wall, twisting impossibly in midair, and landed on the other. A spear of sharpened red pierced the man's fuel tanks, and he exploded, taking a chunk of their tendrils with him. Ow.  _ Fuck.  _

The other men scattered, and they seized one as he passed, ripping away his helmet and crunching his skull in a single fluid, thoughtless motion. “What the hell?!” 

They chewed, swallowed, grasping another man by his ankle. The others ended up caught in spiderwebs, as the remaining  _ captured prey _ became ever-more-entangled in Scream's ‘hair.’  **“Bad guys,”** they explained, confused.  **“If they're dead, they're not trying to kill us.”**

“You just ate that guy's  _ head!” _

Heels clicked against the ground, a little squeaky in the foam. “You don't get to pick your allies on the battlefield, kid. Tony would kill me if anything happened to you, so I, for one, am glad they're on our side.”

Had V been injured, or were they hiding to avoid scaring the littler of the spiders?

“But - Missus Widow, ma'am, she just killed that guy …?”

The Widow looked to Scream with a halfhearted shrug. “I don't suppose you could have done without traumatizing the kid?”

**“... Mister Spider, do you mind turning around for us?”**

His own eyespots did a good job of conveying his shock and horror. “Are you gonna eat this guy, too?” He pointed at the mass of tendrils holding the man suspended. “Coz I don't think I can call myself a hero and just - let that happen. You know?”

Spider-Man was much cooler when he wasn't telling them not to eat people. 

They huffed a loud sigh, tossing the man aside. His screaming became sobbing, and then Spider-Man webbed him to the wall.

“Good work with this lot - between us and Stark's security bots, there's not much left to mop up of this little incursion. I'll understand if you kids can't get back to sleep, but you should probably try.”

Scream looked to the Widow, a faint frown playing on their maw. “We want chocolate,” they announced. “And a shower. We saved the Spider-Man.”

“I uh - ” Belatedly, the Spider-Man seemed to realize that their ‘mask’ was still wrapped around his own. They reached out several golden tendrils and peeled it away from his face. “Thanks, by the way, but I mean it, I can't just let you eat people in front of me.”

They looked at him with the very flattest expression they could manage.  **“Oh, no,”** they said, sarcasm dripping from their voice.  **“What a tragedy for us.”** They let the mask peel back: fair was fair after all, and they'd seen the Spider-Man's face. “Asked for chocolate, Mister Spider, not brains.”

“There's a person in there!” He yelped, pointing at them, and Dawn covered her face with her hand, now. “Like a whole person!”

The Widow laughed at this, and the Spider-Man ducked his head. It wasn't really his fault; he didn't know what they were, after all.  **He is silly. Glad Dawn is not so silly.**

_ I … never really got to be a kid, _ she replied, glancing away from the scene.

The Window noticed. 

“Why don't we see if Spider-Man here has left anything in the fridge, huh?” She sounded warm, pleasant.  _ Like a mom should, _ Dawn thought, though that was a silly idea, wasn't it? 

The Spider-Man was looking at her, too, now, and she nodded quietly, turning away.

**Dawn is sad,** Sunny murmured. They formed a little blobby head out of her shoulder, and she reached up, caressing their skull idly.  **It is okay. If you were normal, we would not be us. I do not want that, do you?**

_ No, love. _

She was walking, and Nat nudged the Spider-Man forward, behind them. He had to jog to catch up, by the time his legs finally started moving. “Hey, I didn't mean to yell at you or anything, it's just, you - uh, you guys know it's not okay to eat people, right?”

A blink, another, and they slowed to a stop. 

“... right?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Mister Spider, it is a very long day. You're … nice. We aren't.”

“That's not … really an answer, you know?”

She sighed, pressing her palm to her forehead, and Sunny worked to soothe the ache that was starting. “Eating people is bad. Yes. We - benefit from it. Heal better, faster. Makes us stronger. But if not fighting, no reason to go for people. Okay?”

“How does that even work, anyway? Like, your jaw went all the way open like a snake, or something ...?” He sounded genuinely curious. 

She shrugged, and they were walking again. The Widow went - somewhere else. V was still inside of her, and they weren't freaking out, either; Eddie pretty much  _ had _ to be okay by that logic. Probably, that was where the Widow was going was to check up on him. 

“Well … how did you end up like this, then?” He was way too excitable, like an over-eager puppy. It was actually kind of cute. “I'll go first, I got bit by this weird spider, right? It made me super strong, super fast, really durable - all of that, and I can climb on walls and stuff, which you apparently already know. Did you see that on YouTube or something?”

She nodded, softly. “It looked cool, and we were bored. So, we decided to see if we could do something like that, too.”

“You keep using the plural - is that thing …?” He reached for Sunny’s head, which was still floating next to hers. “Like, is it separate from you, I guess - woah - look at your eyes! That is so cool!”

They'd made it to the kitchen, finally, a little communal area with tables and chairs. It wasn't well-lit at the moment, but it wasn't terrible, either. “... eyes?” She tilted her head to the side, not quite comprehending. 

Spider-Man called something about them  _ cool _ .

“Yeah, it's like - wow - ” He reached up with his left hand, and a light struck her eyes fully, blinding her for a second. She hissed slightly, and Sunny snapped their fangs irritably. “Sorry, sorry, it's just awesome, you've got eye shine, like a cat or something, what was it called - oh, I know this one. Gah!”

She blinked, owlishly.  _ Eye-shine? Like V did for Eddie? _

**Your night vision was bad.** Sunny explained, sounding almost shy.  **We - I thought … if you could see better, you'd be afraid less.**

_ … thank you, love.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi to all my new readers, welcome aboard, thanks to everybody who's commented and left kudos and generally warmed my black li'l heart that way.
> 
> Lookit, it's this nerd. I swear there's a good reason for him to be up here - and a good reason that a lot of other likely candidates _aren't_. Vision, for example, is sneaking off to make googly eyes at the Scarlet Witch.
> 
> Credit again goes to [Bakageta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakageta/pseuds/Bakageta) for inspiration on a lot of the subtler things they can do. Check out the awesome "[More Us Every Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797247)" for subtle body horror and Eddie ending up as a cryptid in his own body.


	28. Alien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter might as well just stick with his brand - and his _Spider-Sense_ is definitely on the fritz.

The thing about being able to bench press a bus, right, was it sent Peter’s metabolism through the roof. Before she  _ found out, _ Aunt May had claimed it was just because he was a teenager. Growing boys are always hungry, after all. She even used to look to Uncle Ben, for confirmation - before, well.

Peter tried really hard not to think about that night. He even mostly succeeded.

Anyway, Mr. Stark had pretty much ordered him to eat as much as he wanted, while he was here at the compound, and he figured that probably extended to this new girl, since his exact words were that ‘nobody is going hungry under my roof.’ 

Seeing someone  _ else _ eat as much as he did really drove home how weird he must look, shoveling food into his own mouth.

Granted, he didn’t have a second head growing out of his shoulder, and that almost certainly contributed to the generally unsettling feeling he was getting. That prescience he’d gained since becoming Spider-Man - he was trying really hard not to just dub it his ‘Spider-Sense’ - left him with a generalized sort of anxiety around this stranger, even when she wasn’t really doing anything threatening.

That, more than the small army of HYDRA soldiers, had been what woke him. He’d been aware, even before waking, of Something Dangerous nearby.

And then she’d been hanging off the ceiling. He’d discovered that, too, was extremely unsettling when it wasn’t him doing it.

Now, that sense of danger kept his teeth shut tight. He wanted to batter the pair with more questions, to ask what it was like, how they’d come to  _ be, _ what the golden goo even  _ was, _ but he just couldn’t form the words for the lump that had formed in his throat.

It was probably for the best: the girl looked exhausted, and the little blob-monster drooped on gooey strands of gold.

Between the girl and her blob, they put away a dozen eggs, a couple fistfulls of diced ham, and an entire tub of chocolate ice cream with single-minded focus, which was pretty impressive, given that they seemed to have two entirely separate consciousnesses. At least, given the way they moved independently, that seemed likely, he hadn’t actually asked them  _ anything, _ yet, not since they'd started eating.

The blob-monster finished crunching down the eggs, one after another, shells and all. It  _ almost _ put Peter off the sandwich he’d made, except, like,  _ super fast metabolism. _ His raw hunger overwhelmed any lingering nausea.

He finally managed to get up the nerve to try and ask any of the dozen questions rattling around in his skull - and realized that the girl had passed out facefirst on the table.

So there he was, digesting his sandwich and the night’s events both, when a strange guy’s voice called out from behind him. “Dawn?” 

Peter yelped, struggling to tug his mask down over his face, because he was  _ very _ much not out in the open about the fact he was Spider-Man. If being a superhero was like being gay in a super conservatively religious household, then Peter had buried himself so far in the closet that he'd found his way to Narnia, and was about to accept a quest from a particularly verbose lion. 

The guy held up his hands. “Whoa, kid, I’m not here to start any trouble. Just looking - ah.” He smiled, fondly, at the sleeping girl. “I figured she’d be tired, yeah.”

“‘M not a  _ kid,” _ Peter grumbled, because that was the mature, reasonable response.

The guy smirked, slightly. “Sure, you’re what, twelve?” He stepped around the table, gently nudging the girl. 

“Sixte - woah!”

Gold swarmed up the guy’s forearm, wrapping thin bands around his bracelets and tattoos. Most of its essence remained rooted in the girl, but its consciousness seemed focused on the man.  **“Dad! You’re hurt!”** The little blob announced this, loudly.

The girl settled into a deeper sleep, sighing, and the gold sank into the guy’s arm. “That’s not necessary - ”

**“Is so.”** The gold head peeked out of his wrist, before submerging once more.

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Sorry about all this,” he said to Peter. “I’m Eddie, Eddie Brock. They’re - just a bit overprotective.”

“I - uh, Spider-Man.” A moment of silence stretched between them. “... Dad?” He couldn’t have heard that right, but his senses didn’t really  _ lie. _ Sure, he got overwhelmed sometimes, and sometimes the signals got mixed up - but that was definitely not what was happening right now.

The guy - Eddie - Mr. Brock - blinked. His eyes caught the kitchen light - tapetum lucidum! That was the term, the shiny film that let nocturnal animals see in the dark! He had it too, which probably shouldn't be that surprising, but it was still super awesome. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Adopted.”

“O-oh. Okay, then.” For a moment, Peter had forgotten what they were talking about. 

The golden shadow swarmed back down Eddie's arm, before surging between them, settling fully within the girl. The general anxiety of his - okay,  _ fine, _ Spider-Sense - followed the main body of the blob-monster.

_ Weird. _

Still, Aunt May would kill him if he turned out racist. Or, well, speciesist? Was that a word? Did it matter? He did his best to tune out the low, nervous hum in the back of his skull, watching the  _ three _ , because yeah, the creature was definitely sapient if it could  _ talk. _

“See? Barely a cut. V would have had it patched up in a second, if they weren’t - you know.”

Gold swirled at the girl’s shoulder again, forming into its own head. It stuck a freakishly long tongue out, before replying.  **“V is spawning.”**

“You know about that?”

This felt, very much, like a conversation that Peter shouldn’t really be listening in on, but there wasn’t really a graceful way to escape eavesdropping on this whatever-it-was. Plus, it was really interesting, from a scientific perspective.

**“Is that why they stayed with the new lady? Because humans carry their young in a uterus?”**

New lady? Peter wasn’t entirely certain he liked the sound of that, and not just because of the budding sense of not-quite-fear bursting at the back of his skull.

When he actually caught the sound of heels clicking on the floor behind him, he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Miss Nat!”

“Hey, kid. Sorry about earlier. I didn’t know she was going to eat somebody in front of you.”

He gulped, realizing that he was now surrounded. Two of these creatures were in the room, one in front, one behind, and his Spider-Sense was going absolutely nuts.  _ The other blob-monster was inside Miss Nat?! _

“It’s - it’s all right, I mean, I read about HYDRA in school, and if you’re gonna bite anybody’s head off, it might as well be a Nazi, I guess?” He paused, uncertainly. “Miss Nat, did something lay eggs inside of you?  _ Is some kind of alien going to burst out of your chest?” _

A shadow welled up under Miss Nat’s ribcage, and a face with  _ far _ too many teeth exploded from her skin.  **“Boo.”**

“Gah!”

It wasn't showing off, exactly. He just had all that strength, all that flexibility, and the grace to put his body exactly where he wanted it to be. 

In this case, that meant, ‘as far away from the monster as possible.’ His chair went one way, and he went another, flipping sideways and landing in the corner, on the ceiling next to the refrigerator. 

Miss Nat was pinching the bridge of her nose, looking exasperated. 

**“Hah! Ahahaha! Is the Spiderling always so jumpy?”** The alien twisted its - what, neck? - in a way no vertebrate could hope to match, its head rolling in a full circle as long strands of black oozed in thick coils around Miss Nat's shoulders.  **“He is a jumping spider, Eddie! Like in the pictures, but with more ‘jump!’”**

Great. It thought he was a loser. That was pretty much par for the course, though. 

“Y-yeah, that's me - friendly neighborhood jumping Spider-Man.” He left himself relax enough to perch on top of the fridge. 

Miss Nat looked up at him, eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “Except it's not like you, at all.” Her voice was blunt, not exactly accusatory, for all that she was calling him out. “When we first met - forgive me for saying this, but I honestly figured you were too young and stupid to be afraid of anything. Now you're telling me you’re skittish?”

He shifted his weight, uncertainly, fingers to toes and back. “So, it's like, I have this - I can kind of feel when bad stuff is about to happen, right? Like, if someone is about to hit me, or that time a building fell on me, I get a couple seconds’ notice, but when uh - you know, these guys - these goo-things -”

**“Klyntar,”** the goo-creature identified itself.

He nodded, waving his hand vaguely at the black ink monster. “When one of these  _ Klyntar _ is in the room, even, it's this - constant unease, like I should be dodging already, or running, or - something - so … I'm trying to ignore it, but it's kind of A Thing.”

**“Not his fault,”** the black-ink creature rumbled, an almost-pleased note in its tone.  **“We were made to feast on gods, little Spider. We have no quarrel with you.”** They smiled up at him, showing far too many teeth. 

He forced a nervous smile onto his own lips. “Right back at you, except without the god eating part, uh, because I wasn't really made for anything, you know? I'm just me.”

“So you know, darling, I'm not up for trying to kill Thor. I would prefer not to get electrocuted.” Darling? First, Mr. Brock was talking about adopting the gold one, and now he was sweet-talking the black one … Peter was starting to think his home life might be a little bit weird. 

Pearlescent eyespots crinkled at the edges, as the creature's grin broadened further.  **“Not little Asgardian ‘gods,’ Eddie. Don't worry; no Celestials here.”**

“I'm starting to think you misrepresented your relative strength,” Miss Nat said with a teasing grin. “Don't worry; I won't tell Tony.”

And, of course, Mr. Stark had the very best sense of timing. “Tell me what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured this would explain why his Spider-Sense couldn't really tell him whether or not he's about to be attacked by one of the symbiotes is because it's just _constantly shrieking at him_ LOOK THEY'RE RIGHT THERE LOOK FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU'RE GONNA DIE.
> 
> He tries so hard to be a good kid.


	29. Compound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which traffic laws are still technically laws.

Will was awake, a fact that was less surprising than it probably should have been. Leslie was starting to get the impression he just didn't sleep if he could help it - certainly, he didn't sleep _enough_.

His response included a nice little string of expletives, one or two ‘wtf's, and apparently he could actually see the fire from his place, which was good to know.

“You know, Mr. Stark, traffic laws are still laws.” They didn't have a precise handle on how fast the vehicle was moving, but it was definitely more than seventy, which probably meant the driver guy was breaking the speed limit.

Tony shrugged with his good arm. “Won't be the first ticket I've paid off. I like red, you know that? Red cars, really flashy - if I'm getting tickets either way, I might as well actually drive it like I stole it, don't you think? Don't you think so, Happy?”

“... didn't you like, save the world?” She glanced over the top of her phone at him, raising her eyebrows.

He nodded. “Ye-up. Couple times. And you'd think that would matter, but it doesn't.”

Abby poked her head out of the collar of Leslie's shirt, her colors shifting to a vivid crimson with a yellow belly. Her tongue poked out, playfully - she was feeling feisty, after their little workout. Almost by contrast, Lash rolled over onto his back, paws twitching as his host settled further into sleep. 

“I wouldn't know,” Leslie shrugged, scritching Abby's head.

Her phone dinged. It was Will.

**Will:** where are you, now?  
  
**Leslie:** apparently getting kidnapped by iron man ill let u know how it goes lmao

She hit send, glancing up to Tony, because honestly, at this point, it could go either way.

He was looking at them.

“That's it, isn't it - the, uh, symbiote?” He gestured at Abby, uncertainly. “Doesn't look much like the others."

She tilted her head to the side. “Mm. They can look like anything. I like snakes, and it's a bit easier to explain away a weird coloration than … you know, the floating head crap V and Sunny get up to. This is Abby. Abby, you wanna say hello to Mr. Stark?”

 **“... hello.”** Abby didn't _like_ to speak that way - she’d never really felt it was necessary, since Leslie could understand her almost as well as another Klyntar.

But she'd practiced a bit with Will, after she taught him how not to spill his thoughts everywhere. He was kind of a friend, now. She still didn't like it much, and the serpentine vocal chords weren't meant for it, either, but it was a simple enough shift to be able to form the word.

Both of them kind of wanted to tweak Tony Stark's nose, and a talking snake seemed about ready to give him a heart attack.

_Thanks, love._

**Warmth, playfulness.**

“And ... okay, so, that's an actual sapient … person. That just looks like a snake right now. That's what you're telling me.” He seemed to have some trouble wrapping his head around the entire idea of it. “And it just … lives inside of you, all the time? Where does all the extra - gah! Don't do that! Warn a man!”

Abby shifted, moving easily. It wasn't really all that difficult to mold her shape around, and she formed herself into a miniature copy of Agony, settling on Leslie's shoulder like a figurative angel - if the angel in question had about a foot of tongue and fangs like a snake. And was purple, because they both liked the color violet more than either of them liked Iron Man.

 **“Humans aren't all one thing,”** she commented, inspecting her claws. **“There is a whole ecosystem inside of each human, and that's just your natural symbiotic bacteria. You have entirely different structures for every little function - and a wealth of space between them. We fit.”**

 _I like you better than my gut flora, for what it's worth,_ Leslie sent, playfully.

The response was a mental equivalent of a shrug. It was neither a fair comparison, nor a necessary one; by now, all of Leslie's systems recognized Abby as _part of the whole_ , as required for proper homeostasis as the aforementioned bacteria. No need to choose.

_Just a joke, dearheart._

A hint of **amusement** , followed by **love** . Abby was warm, drowsy, and content - and she _liked_ that Leslie's jigsaw puzzle body had made room for her to fit. Humans seemed, to her limited experience and V's considerably less limited experience, like they were uniquely well-suited to symbiosis.

She realized that they had actually been talking, Iron Man and Abby, while she'd been spacing out. “Sorry,” she said, since Tony was looking at her, now, thoughtfully. “It's been kind of a rough night.”

 **“Humans require sleep,”** Abby murmured. She leaned back, pressed a kiss to Leslie's cheek, and sent a wash of **warmth** and **love** and **restfulness**.

Wait …

The world went black. It wasn't really that important, was it? Abby could take care of them for a few hours.

Honest.

**Love.**

* * *

“And, by the way? Using your friend's body like a hand puppet is fucking creepy, okay? Seriously.”

Leslie blinked, and they were standing outside this large, glassy building. It was … big, mostly, and ludicrously fancy. The entryway had been busted out, sparkling shards of glass glittering under the fluorescent lights. “... Don't suppose you're remodeling?”

A vague sense of **concern** from Abby, but muted.

“Ah, nope. I got a call while you were out - ” And the knowledge was just there, both sides of the conversation ringing in her head.

She looked around, at the shattered glass, the splotches of blood, and she felt queasy. “They wanted us,” she guessed, and the taste of blood still clung to her teeth.

“ - looks like, yeah. Weren't you sleeping?” He glanced over to her. “I distinctly remember something about you being asleep.”

She shrugged. “Abby filled me in. So - like, am I supposed to be helping with something, or …?”

“You - and your family, for now - are here as my guest. Guests.” He gestured vaguely at the busted out windows. “Watch your step. Apparently your, uh, sister helped fend off some wannabe Nazis while I was picking you up, which, according to the Nazis, was just about the opposite of the plan in every conceivable way, and incidentally is part of what landed me on the side of trusting your little family, as opposed to not.” A robot rolled up, crunching through the large chunks of glass, carrying a tray of drinks and snacks. “Jerky?”

She considered, prodding Abby gently to assess their hunger. A vague, sleepy **negative** ; the symbiote had curled up neatly in among her organs, heavy with the weight of their meal. “I already ate,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “Sorry.”

“Your loss.” He snagged a package of chocolate-covered something-or-others - **chocolate!** \- and Leslie couldn't stop herself from following suit. **_Peanuts! With chocolate!_ ** “Or not. Anywho, so, apparently one of the goals was, yeah, if they could, they were supposed to try and capture you and your friends alive, but mostly they wanted to use you lot as a diversion. I gather the idea was that they'd bust your family out, let them run wild in the compound, and while the Avengers on-site dealt with you, they could make off with the tech we've got locked up here.”

She nodded, slowly, following him through a set of double-doors and onto an elevator. “Dawn's a good kid. I'm - sorry for threatening you, Mr. Stark. It's … my family's important to me.”

“I can imagine, Ms. Brown. Ah - ” he held up his good hand. “Our secret. I'm sure you had your reasons for cutting ties. I just make it a point of knowing who I'm dealing with, since one too many times, relative unknowns like yourself have come to bite me in the ass.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Call me that name one more time, and it won't be your ass we bite, _Mr. Stark.”_ Violet swarmed around her fist, and she felt a faint pressure at her canines - fangs?

“Fair. That's fair.” He smiled, agreeably enough, and she let her fist unclench. “The thing is, Ms. Gesneria, you _did_ threaten me, and I tend to take that personally. But, well, your bratty kid sister looked after a - well, a dear friend of mine.” He offered his right hand. “So, truce?”

She took his hand. He had calluses, which shouldn't be surprising - she'd heard that he did a lot of hands-on manufacturing work. It still put her a bit more at ease. “Truce.”

“Call me Tony,” he said, amicably.

She nodded. “Leslie, then.”

“Thank god, something I can pronounce.” He grinned, the elevator dinged, and they approached a fairly ordinary-looking, if somewhat upscale dining area.

There were people talking, a vaguely familiar woman's voice. “Don't worry; I won't tell Tony.”

“Tell me what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to [this here guide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722) for how to make text messages on Ao3. All errors are my own.
> 
> Will and Leslie have made friends, at least as much as they can.
> 
> Tony's had one too many randoms just roll up to the club like 'sup I hate you for one reason or another' to not go digging up everything on whoever's most recently thrown him a death threat.


	30. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it all ties together, and the Widow is personally insulted by the incompetence of their foes.

Eddie Brock was a light sleeper. They woke him up, made sure he was awake and aware of the situation, and told him to stay put. He might not be helpless, but he wasn't a superhero, and he wasn't a trained operative. 

Hell, the kids were enhanced, but their training had all been on the job. Nat made a note; they wanted to fix that at their first opportunity. 

**Scream is competent. The spider child will be safe.**

Nat didn't doubt it, and yet she still found herself gnawing at the relative unknowns - she'd spent hours listening to the kid having a breakdown. She'd seen the footage, she'd done her research, and yet, Dawn seemed so vulnerable. So fragile, so fucking broken. 

Memories swirled up through her mind, not hers - and not V's either. She watched a quick series of images, memories, flicker across her brain, the girl's last real job. 

Scream played it more subtly than Venom would have, but they pulled off the mission flawlessly. No allied casualties; they weren't even detected until they'd ascertained the location of each target.

They drew up the secondhand memory of blood, of being wracked with sonic energy until they learned to disperse it without pain. V understood the essence of what Scream had done, but it was a talent that they would have to learn. Then, there was the memory of feasting - humans, mostly, but there had been another Klyntar, feeble, nearly dead, when they absorbed it, consuming its knowledge and skills as well as its remaining strength. 

Ultimately, the key was that when they were Scream, merging humanity with the alien  _ other _ to form something new, Dawn's mind couldn't actually fall apart properly. Sunny wasn't able to allow it. The hybrid form took the best of both of them, and they weren't solid enough to be bothered by such human failings as a sickness borne from an incomplete structure in their brain. Everything of Dawn was encoded in swirling golds and reds - and Dawn had survived the worst of the horror that mere humans might offer. 

Scream - Sunny, specifically - had shared the memories in an effort to determine if they'd done it right. They were so  _ young _ . How had the Widow come to be surrounded by kids?

And yet, she wanted to reassure them, to tell them they'd done better than could reasonably be expected - hell, a vaguely paternal sense yearned to remind them that  _ they were so proud _ of the pair. That was V. Probably. 

Reassured, she put the memories  _ away _ , sending a sense of gratitude. 

_ Let's kill some bad guys. Only some - we should probably keep a couple for information. _

A part of her actually still expected V to try and seize her limbs, but they were content to augment her already-impressive abilities and watch. They  _ weren't _ a perfect match, and fighting each other would only result in them failing the mission - which was remarkably sensible, and she was glad to have a partner who didn't feel the need to get in the way. 

If she didn't think too hard, it almost reminded her of Budapest. Clint never got in her way, either, not by choice, anyway. 

Obviously, she hadn't gone to sleep with much more than the emergency tools she kept in her hair tie, and that was hardly anything worth mentioning - a small lockpicking kit, one of her bites in case of emergency (disguised as a decorative piece), and a thin knife. Step one was to hit up the gear locker that had her equipment, then, which was pretty quick and painless. She had to adjust the belts about one tick larger than they would have otherwise been -  _ you can sense electrical charges?  _

**Of course.** They highlighted the prickly sort of sensation/flavor/aura around her Bites, but she'd already picked up on it.  **A lot of it in your atmosphere - took time to learn what was normal.**

She shrugged off the sense of disorientation as the senses with no human comparison plugged into the nearest analogue. It felt a bit like that one time she'd gotten herself drugged and ended up with synesthesia for a bit - just more potentially useful. 

V helpfully suppressed her sense of nausea as she strapped a half-dozen knives to her own skin, seeming bemused.  **Won't be necessary,** they murmured. 

_ Be prepared. _ She grinned to herself, her tongue rolling across their teeth.  _ I fucked a Boy Scout once. _ It actually hadn't been half-bad, though she hadn't been able to actually convince him of that fact.

They sent a sense of confusion -  **what does that have to do with anything** \- and she waved it off. 

_ Don't worry about it. Just a saying.  _

They accepted it, recognizing the humor in her mind, even if they didn't understand the joke.  **Ready?**

_ Sure, let's go. _

FRIDAY had marked out the largest gathering of hostiles, and being honest with herself, it wasn't just V who was eager to take their new abilities for a test drive. Cannibalism wasn't the worst thing she'd done for a job, but it  _ would _ still be an entirely new experience. 

They noted her absent revulsion with curiosity as they leaped - together - through the plate glass windows of the second story, rolling fluidly at the end of the drop. There was an unsettlingly liquid sloshing as they came up on their feet, but their sinuous, ink-black essence wrapped tight around her true musculature quickly enough. 

The roll drew a moment's attention, a startled yelp, and she grinned, closing the distance in a handful of bounding steps. Bullets sprayed the glass walls, the ceiling, and she buried four sharp claws under his chin, ripping his head messily from his spine. All eyes on her - she unhinged her jaw, dropping the entire head into their maw.

**“Hello, boys,”** she gave her most seductive purr, voice distorted by V's inhuman mouth. She ran her tongue across her fingers, lapping at the blood.  **“I'm the Black Widow. And** **_we_ ** **are oh, so** **_hungry_ ** **.”**

More startled squawking, bullets going everywhere - how fucking  _ unprofessional _ \- and she wasn't sure whose thought that even was. 

Yanking a grenade from her belt, she tugged at one of V's favorite memories.  _ Mask, _ she grinned, pulling the pin.

They grinned, as she tossed it.  **Copy,** they replied, savoring the vicious glee in her heart. Tear gas rolled free, and there were more squawks, more screams. Oh, it was going to be  _ hard _ to restrain herself enough to keep them alive for questioning. 

The difference was, HYDRA was  _ by definition _ the kind of organization which pretty much exclusively recruited scum.

It ended up that they didn't leave any of their first victims alive. It was easy, it felt good, and any rare bit of  _ excess fuel _ was shunted into stimulating the growth of their new offspring.

She felt a weight low in her gut and decided not to think too hard about that.

Invisibility was pretty great for setting up an ambush, and okay, yeah, she was getting a feel for why Peter liked climbing sheer walls. 

Getting a view of the fight from above - especially from a distance - made it easier to plan her attack, and wasn't that refreshing? She could keep up with the kids when they insisted on winging it, old crone or no, but things went so much  _ smoother _ with a plan.

**Not a crone.** V pointed out, because they were incredibly literal.  **You have no wrinkles.**

A soft snort escaped her.  _ I'd fucking better not, _ she replied, counting their prey. Eight guys, land on the one in back, take his gun, tear through the others until the clip empties, deal with whichever of them was left. Easy. 

Another group died before they got properly warned up, and man, but what the actual  _ fuck _ . This was insulting to  _ both _ of them. 

(The Widow was pretty sure V was eroding the vise grip on her heart, and that led to peppering her thoughts with emotionally-charged expletives which - yeah, not terribly professional of her. Oh, well. They hadn’t even brought any professionals, much less a telepath.)

Most of these idiots had kept their wallets on them, and their IDs had basically all been white, privileged-looking twenty-somethings - she got the impression that these were mostly new recruits, pretty much just shock troops. She tugged gently at the mask, and V opened to allow her unaltered voice out. “Hey FRIDAY. How are the communications coming?”

“Local network is online.” So, not quite yet, which sort of meant she needed to get on actually capturing somebody properly. Okay. Poker face. “Would you like me to engage the security drones?”

A vague nod. “Yeah. Set to incapacitate, if you can. We need information from these idiots.”

“Understood, Agent Romanov.”

That ended up backfiring spectacularly. Emphasis: fire. 

About halfway through ambushing the third group, something tripped the alarm systems - “Apologies; it slipped,” - and the shrill alarm hit every single one of their inhuman senses like nails on a chalkboard. The specific tone rattled them to their bones, sending them staggering, and V was forced to dip inside of her skin for just a moment. 

Unlike Eddie, she could probably survive bringing a knife to a gunfight.

Particularly against these clowns.  _ Maximum effort, _ she thought, gritting her teeth. 

She sort of wished Wade was here - while she didn't tend to go for running her mouth, it was kind of fun to have that sort of almost-crazed, manic energy in her ear. 

**You know - so many - interesting people,** V grit out, struggling to find stability as she flung the little disc at the nearest of her victims. 

He seized up, electricity flowing through him, and she reeled him in, using him as a meatshield. Bullets slammed into his body, until the last of these idiots was pulling the trigger on an empty clip, and she grunted, tossing the corpse at his buddy. “Catch.”

“Congratulations, lucky number - ” she took count of this group. “ - six. You get to live.”

She dragged him up, by his throat, and squeezed, holding it until he passed out. “Good boy. All right - V, you doing okay?”

**Told you the knives weren't necessary.** They didn't sound like they were doing so well, and she patted her gut, gently. They'd settled around the - okay, yeah, that was definitely an egg.  **Can still help.**

“I didn't say you couldn't, but do you mind keeping your head down for a bit?” A distant sense - lights winking out. Scream's essence swelled, and they were near, escorting a spark that felt  _ so _ much stronger than these buffoons.  _ The other kid's … young. Trust me.  _

**You think he'll freak out.**

She nodded.  _ If he doesn't freak out, it'll be nothing but questions, and we have work left to finish up.  _ They responded to a half-formed idea, shooting out thick ropes of ebony goop, affixing their prey to the ground for later.  _ Thanks. _

**Welcome.**

It had taken  _ decades _ to get to a point where she could pull off even one-inch heels in combat, and even then, she would've stripped them off if she even began to suspect a challenge. There were some nice points, however, mostly to do with the sounds they made. 

She stepped easily through the pink mix of viscera and foam, and her heels clicked, adding an audible reminder that she wasn't some lead-footed idiot tromping around. It was enough to throw some people - and it would tell her more alert allies where she was. 

“You don't get to pick your allies on the battlefield, kid. Tony would kill me if anything happened to you, so I, for one, am glad they're on our side.”

* * *

After defusing that little conflict (of  _ course _ the kid had hangups about killing. Most people did, and he was pretty squarely ‘most people’ for all that he had enhanced capabilities) she dealt with the preliminary interrogation. 

_ How do you just know when they're lying? _ It was an idle question; their  _ knowing _ lined up flawlessly with her own ability to read people. 

V sent a sense like a mental shrug.  **How do you breathe oxygen? We have a kind of psionic talent. Beyond that, it's just something we** **_know_ ** **. If something is true, it feels -** they sent a serenity, soft and easily missed, a feeling of  _ rightness _ .  **If not, it feels sour/wrong/unreal/rotten.**

Oxygen didn't burn them anymore. It hadn't bothered them since they bonded so completely to Eddie, but that left it flatly nonreactive, a fully neutral gas that they couldn't do much with besides shunt it over to Eddie's - to their current host’s - lungs ...

**_Eddie._ **

The need to be near him hit Nat like a punch in the gut. She sent off her report to Tony, ignoring the pang until she was no longer recording. Intellectually, they knew - they both knew - he was alive, in good condition, not terribly injured. Emotionally, V desperately wanted to be with him, to check on him, to taste every inch of his skin and know that he was  _ okay _ . 

_ Sure, _ she breathed out, not even really thinking about it. She'd used her body for worse causes, and the emotional bleed was so much  _ worse _ with the adrenaline kicked out from under her.  _ We can do that.  _

It didn't,  _ couldn't _ happen immediately. Not in front of the kids. 

… And then goddamn Tony Stark and his  _ fucking impeccable _ sense of timing pushed their plans even further into the night.

“Tell me what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HYDRA _would_ probably find it easy to recruit from those alt-right nationalist types; they spent long enough submerged in that exact flavor of propaganda, after all.
> 
> I'm just gonna keep adding tags until someone comes to my house and stops me.


	31. Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there isn't much point in lying when everyone knows it's a lie.

Gold wrapped around green, welcoming Lash under the table as the humans conversed around them.

Sunny tended to prefer to listen. Humans often forgot about things they couldn’t properly see. The saying went, ‘out of sight, out of mind;’ they were visual predators in a way that Klyntar simply weren’t.

Technically, they were generalist omnivores, according to the book that Dawn had read, but most - like the  _ vast _ majority of humans - ate meat.

Either way, Sunny sank the bulk of their essence under Dawn’s skin, absently reassuring themselves that Lash was okay because beneath the table was out of the humans’ line of sight, and that was okay. Lash, for his part, was better than ‘okay,’ - he’d taken in a surplus so excessive that he had nutrients to spare. He willingly shared in order to shore up the deficit that Sunny had developed in repairing Dawn.

According to V, such generosity was unheard-of among their old Hive. They sent  **gratitude,** and received a wash of unconditional  **love.**

“Tell me what?”

There was a sense of unease around the table that only the spiderling seemed completely unaware of. “Mister Stark!” He seemed as happy to see the man as Scream had been to see Agony and Lasher. “What happened to your arm?!”

Well. His enthusiasm wasn’t wholly his fault, probably.

Still, Sunny didn’t like the Iron Man. Gently, so as not to wake Dawn, they slid over her skin, tucking her hair into the coils of their mane, sharpening her claws and fangs in preparation of the coming fight.

But the Iron Man held up his uninjured hand. “All right, hold up there,  _ Flubber: Gold Edition, _ I’m just here to chat.”

**“Will be watching,”** they replied simply, running their tongue across their teeth. Standing fluidly, they decided to emulate the spiderling, doing a neat little backflip and landing precisely in the space next to the startled boy.

He yelped, his eyespots whirring gently as they refocused.

The Iron Man glared, but they merely offered a friendly wave, baring all of their fangs in a grin.

It wasn’t precisely a threat: they liked the little spider.

Nat, the older spider, inclined her head with a smirk. Leslie took the chair Scream had vacated, reaching down to give Lash a belly rub.

_ “Anyway. _ What were you going to tell me or  _ not _ tell me, Nat?” The Iron Man turned his attention to V and their host, a frown on his features.

There was a moment’s calculation on her face, but V didn’t particularly believe in waiting.

**“She thought to protect us,”** they provided.  **“Thinking it better if you did not know our full capabilities. It is appreciated - but unnecessary.”**

He raised his eyebrow. “Because …?”

**“There are no secrets in the Hive,”** they replied, their head rolling over-and-under, idly.  **“You will need us, and soon.”**

The other eyebrow joined the first in his hairline. “And why is that?”

“The Chitauri,” Nat replied suddenly, her eyes widening.

A simple nod.  **“Yes.”**

Sunny knew of the world-slayers from V’s memory. They were rivals, wasteful. Baring their fangs, Scream hissed, while Abby dove under Leslie’s skin, their essence shivering. 

“I take it that these aren’t allies of yours,” the Iron Man guessed, as he glanced up at Scream. “By your reactions.”

V looped around Nat once, then again, their tendrils stretching.  **“We’ve come to like your planet,”** they replied.  **“And the people on it. Thanos kills worlds by halves, leaving the dead to rot.”**

**“Wasteful,”** Sunny grumbled, sending a low hum of displeasure through their mane.

The humans, all of them, looked taken aback. Eddie tapped his hand across his chest in a shape that Dawn knew to be an appeal to his God. “When did you plan to tell me about this, V?”

**“We hadn’t known your species held anything to draw the destroyer. Now, we do.”** They looked to Eddie, apologetically.  **“Death is coming, and we would be ready to meet Her.”**

The others slowly began to recover from the news. “We have something they want,” the Iron Man repeated. “Like what?”

V rolled their essence in the other direction, contemplating.  **“The one you call the Vision. The object you know as the Tesseract. Others have come and gone: we can taste them in the air, now that we know the scent.”**

A faint hum trilled in the air, a shiver.

**“Incoming,”** Sunny murmured, drawing in their essence, making ready.

Leslie formed her mask, becoming Agony as she stood, turning toward the golden sparks on the far wall. Eddie noticed next, scrambling to dive behind the Widow. The Widow, for her part, tilted her head slightly, V spreading their essence beneath her skin to subtly reinforce her strength.

Lash, for his part, whined loudly and backed up, under the table. 

The sparks spiraled outward, forming a doorway into a library. A tall, oldish human stepped through, his cloak swirling with a will of its own. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”   
  
“What the  **_hell?!”_ ** the spiderling yelped. It seemed the correct response.

Two deeply-scarred hands came up in a defensive gesture. “My name is Doctor Stephen Strange. I noticed your little gathering - lovely place you have here - and decided it’s about time I introduce myself to - what was it - Earth’s Mightiest Heroes?”

“... Uh-huh. Noticed …?”

The man dusted himself off, the cloak trying to help and mostly just getting in his way. The portal behind him collapsed. “I keep something of a registry of entities - particularly extraterrestrial entities - that could prove dangerous to our world.” He glanced to Scream and Agony, then the Widow and even Lash as he rolled to sit up, under the table. “Such as the Klyntar, of which there are  _ five _ now present in the room.”

“Five?” Tony blinked, blinked again. “Five,” he repeated dully.

Nat glanced over at him. “Yeah. I’ll brief you after this.” She sighed softly, running her hands through her hair. It shimmered silver, before growing out somewhat, pouring forth as red as blood. “Thanks, V. So.” She regarded the doctor. “You here to talk? It’s been a long night, so if you’re here to pick a fight I’d ask you to come back tomorrow.”

Sunny grinned slightly, baring their fangs. An enemy wouldn’t give them time to regroup. 

The doctor snorted, softly, his lips twisting into a smile. “You know what? Let’s talk. Your  _ friend _ was discussing the Infinity Stones.” He closed his eyes, spreading his fingers across an amulet at his chest. It shifted, opening for a moment, flaring green - and then closed once more. “I believe I can offer additional insight on that topic.”

“The Infinity Stones,” the Iron Man repeated, and Sunny realized that he was doing that for the same reason Dawn often found herself repeating the same words again and again - to commit the words to memory.

The doctor nodded. “The short form? They’re six rocks that - between them - hold incredible power. I am the guardian of the Eye of Agamotto - otherwise known as the Time Stone. The other five control such disparate ideas as space, power, reality itself, and the minds and spirits of all living creatures. Following me so far?”

“I’m following, at least, but I’m pretty sure I’m in way the fuck over my head,” Eddie muttered, leaning against the wall and watching the doctor. “So, you guys are gearing up for an interstellar throw-down for the fate of the universe. Is that what this is all about?”

Doctor Strange tilted his head. “Eddie Brock. Son of a bitch, I’d been wondering what happened to you after they cancelled your show. That was you at the LIFE Foundation?”

“... yeah. Do I - know you?” He rubbed the back of his head, uncertainly.

The doctor shook his head. “No, not really. I’m a bit of a fan of your work - not necessarily the journalism exactly, but there’s something a bit satisfying about watching a man beat the shit out of someone who deserves it, you know?”

“... I mean, kind of. Look, I’d rather not talk about my checkered past right now, can we get back to the fate of the world stuff?”

All eyes in the room had fallen on him. **“We want to hear these stories, Eddie,”** Sunny piped up, grinning.  **“Which people did you beat up before you met V?”**

“There was that one dirty chairman, uh, a few - honestly, I didn't generally win those fights - I mean - Sunny, no, not right now -” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. 

They laughed, softly. 

Slowly, the tension faded, until the entire room joined in their laughter, even Eddie. 

That felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, since I'm awake already, here you go. 
> 
> This little buildup isn't gonna bear fruit for a while, but at least the flowers are pretty.


	32. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a revelation is revealed. Also, breakfast.

Dawn stretched, catlike, in the unfamiliar bed. Sunny was comfortable, she was comfortable, they were well-fed, and there was a low hum of companionable solidarity among the Hive.

It felt … like a memory that wasn't hers, wasn't Sunny's, a sense of others-like-us, a pleasant knowledge that she was only one part of the whole. 

For a long moment, they basked in the warmth and wellbeing. Everything was peaceful, serene, calm. Blood rushed to and fro. Then, she was sharply aware of the alien sense of knowing, intimately, that the oxygen in the air was setting her lungs on fire so very slowly that it turned to slow rust. Sunny repaired the damage, as always, but it was so clearly inhuman that she was jolted out of the gestalt consciousness.

_ Is that how it's supposed to feel? _ She sent the inquiry with a yawn, her hair poofing gently around her head. 

They sent a sense of a shrug.  **Dunno.**

They could ask V, but she wasn't entirely sure about sharing her mind with this new woman, not outside emergencies. 

A blade, broken, reforged. The weight of age and ennui, and  _ so much blood. _

Even such a weapon could nurture; blades cut meat as certainly as skin. The question became whether or not she knew  _ how _ . 

_ It was nice. Being all of us. Why …  _ she reached vaguely for words that didn't even make sense, especially not the more she woke up and greeted the sunlight in her room.

They emerged from a spot just above her heart. The scar there had become a vivid pink flower, a reminder of just how desperately they had worked to save her life, because  _ Sunny loved Dawn, too. _

Liquid gold formed into a protective torque, wrapping around, around again, before they nuzzled their forehead against her chin.

**Too much (individual), not enough (togetherness).** They tried to explain, and it kind of made sense.  **Humans think in singular.**

She smiled, scratching at their head, asking them to make clothes again, reminded about another stupidly human thing. They stuck out their tongue, before molding into a simple, pastel-yellow t-shirt that went to her knees. It'd do for modesty. 

A low groan sounded from the other bed. “We can hear you moving around. Grabbed your bag. ‘ssa smart idea. Gonna figure out somethin’ like that for me later, maybe Eddie, too, ‘s practical.”

“Leslie! Lash!” No wonder it felt like  **(everyone together)** \- everyone  _ was _ together. She threw herself onto the other bed, snuggling against the older girl and their beloved dog. This elicited another low groan from Leslie, and a happy boof from the pit bull. “You're here!”

Nobody asked a dog questions. Lasher was Awake and Happy and his heart was full of the kind of pure, intense, enthusiastic affection that she'd only seen in dogs and small children. Three feet of tongue slobbered her face and chest and arms in kisses, and she giggled. 

“How the fuck are you this much of a morning person,” Leslie grumbled, dragging Dawn in among the blankets for a hug, grinding her knuckles gently against Dawn's scalp. 

She giggled, snapping her teeth playfully, and it felt pure and warm and happy. Love echoed between the six of them, cords of gold, green, and violet twining around each other.  _ Missed you. Love you.  _

_Yeah, yeah._ Their **warmth** and **love** sang through clearly, along with a bone-deep **weariness.** _Five more minutes._

Which realistically would mean  _ five more hours _ with how tired she sounded.

_ Sleep, _ Dawn agreed.

She found a bathroom attached to the little bedroom, and there, she took one of the best showers she'd had in ages. That done, she dressed in an outfit that hadn't gotten too dirty, brushed her teeth - and Sunny's first pang of hunger tugged at her stomach. 

Leslie had grabbed all of the phenylethylamine in the house, and now, Dawn fed Sunny and Lash each one of the pills. She had kept the running bag packed, and - maybe it was selfish, but she'd kept the cookbook in it, too.

It was probably going to be much more useful with a fully stocked refrigerator. 

Grabbing it from the running bag, they edged out into the kitchen area, trying not to wake anybody else. Sunny said that everybody had gone to bed late, because of superhero stuff. Sleep was important, so she’d cook their own breakfast, and hopefully nobody would be bothered too much. Eggs would probably be easy enough, if there were any left. Maybe there would be some left. Lash wagged his tail, hopping down to follow her into the kitchen.

A surprised noise came from one of the doors nearby. “Hullo, mister Spider.” 

“I - uh, hi. Good morning.” He looked at her, uncertainly.

Silence stretched between them as she raided the refrigerator. He sat himself down at the table, and he seemed content to watch. She smiled, still not  _ looking, _ as the spider reached down to scratch Lash's ears. It was a very hesitant, uncertain gesture -  **he can sense us** \- but Lash responded with enthusiasm. 

“Want some?” 

Aha, eggs. There  _ had _ been a second carton behind the first, which they'd apparently put back empty. 

Last night had been kind of rough. 

“What are you cooking?” He asked, running his hand down Lasher's flanks, gradually getting more comfortable with the fact that Lash was no more inclined to eat his face than any other dog.

She shrugged. “We eat kind of a lot. I was gonna make eggs with kind of just everything.”

“Everything, huh? Well, I guess I could go for that …”

She didn't think about it. Strands of gold reached up, rifling through the cabinets for a large bowl, a whisk, a spatula - there were all kinds of things, appliances so fancy that she didn't know what they were even for. She elected to stick to the things she knew how to use.

Sunny helped by cracking the eggs, one after another, consuming the shells after they were done because they’d burned all kinds of resources to bring her back. Oh, ground beef, she grabbed a pan with a thin strand of red, set it on the back burner - she should add some oil for that, so she did. Sunny helped her manage some of the tendrils, opening the oil for her -  _ thanks, love _ \- before putting the things they no longer needed back where they'd found them.

“... so like, is that all you, or your, uh, friend, or …?” Spider-Man asked, tentatively.

She shrugged, setting to browning the meat. “Both. They’re - made of it, I guess, but - we share stuff.”

“So, you’re doing some of it?” He sounded genuinely interested as she used her hands to actually work on the meat. “How does that work? Is it like having extra arms? Can you feel where all of it is? Can - can the others do that, too?” His knee bounced a little, and he leaned forward.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, feeling Sunny swirling over her eyes. 

“... that is  _ not _ tapetum lucidum,” he said, and he was staring at her in a kind of shock. 

It was very difficult to roll her eyes; Sunny's vision wasn't restricted to her pupils. “They have their own senses. Can share. You  _ still _ talk too much.” Sunny had added the milk to the eggs - oh, frozen hash browns!  **_Yes, please._ ** She added that and some frozen vegetables to the pan, continuing to stir. “Not like arms, no. Think they added … something, to my brain, so I can use it better. Eddie and Leslie can't do it as good, and Lash is a dog.”

“Does that bother you? That they made changes to your brain?”

A shrug. “No.”

“Not even a bit? I'd find it really weird.”

She blew a breath out. “You think the spider changed nothing in your brain? Normal people can't sense us.”

“You were asleep for that.” He blinked, blinked again. “Weren't you?”

A nod. 

The vegetables were about half cooked, the meat was basically edible now - time for the eggs. Sunny poured the egg mix into the pan, and they absorbed any that remained in the bowl. 

“... okay. So - but, why doesn't it bother you that they changed stuff in your head? They could make you a whole different person.”

Sunny formed their own head for that, fixing their eyespots on Spider-Man.

**“We love Dawn. If we changed who she was, she would not be Dawn.”** Their eyespots narrowed at that.  **“We help fix what was broken when we got here.”**

He frowned. “Like what?”

**“Not your business, Spider.”** They bared their fangs in a hiss. 

Dawn sighed. “Doctor Dan thinks it's schizophrenia, or maybe something like it.”

The sense of V, and the Widow, and Eddie - they were all just around the corner, but she pretended not to notice. Sunny found some bread, and they started cooking it in the toaster. It could do four slices at a time, which seemed like a lot to them. 

“You're crazy?” He sounded aghast at that idea. “Like, really crazy?”

She shrugged. “Yes. And?”

“But … like, you're … ” He struggled to find the words. “You're powerful. And - people like us, we have a responsibility to the people around us, and …. ”

She turned the heat off, fishing cheese out of the fridge. Maybe next time she'd try the cookbook; they were too hungry to even consult it, this time. The toast popped, and Sunny shifted it to a plate, grabbing three more. Butter would be good, too, and more bread for toast, so everyone could have two.

“ _ What _ kind of responsibility? What do we  _ owe _ those who do nothing for us?” She began to dish out the eggs, splitting the huge serving as evenly as possible. Her bitter anger didn't extend to the spider, for all that he also hadn't really done much for them. 

“We look to our family first. Maybe you have never been homeless, Mister Spider, but we  _ have _ . Our only responsibility is to make sure that we can stay alive and unharmed, and anyone who wants to change that? They  _ die _ .”

He looked thoughtful, at that, and a little surprised when she put a plate down in front of him, anyway. Sunny added the freshly buttered bread on top of the eggs, as an afterthought.

Oh. He'd need at least a fork - she grabbed one of those for him, then one for each remaining plate. 

“I guess there's no point pretending you don't know we're right here,” the lady-spider said, walking out into the kitchen area and taking the plate Dawn had made for her. “I'd like to offer a counterpoint, if you're willing to listen to someone who's at least out of high school.” She offered a wry smile at the younger spider. 

Oh, Eddie was here already - Sunny had started the coffee, thankfully, but it wasn't ready yet. She smiled, scritching their skull. “Okay,” she said simply. 

“So far, the Avengers have averted a number of world-destroying catastrophes, and apparently we're heading into yet another one. Maybe you don't owe the people of Earth all that much,” she acknowledged. “For better or worse, though, your family lives here. Some of you are human, some aren't - but given that all of you  _ do _ live here, it seems to me that you'd have a vested interest in making sure that there still  _ is _ a here.”

Eddie stared longingly at the coffee pot from his spot at the table. “‘s a nice speech,” he mumbled, his eyes half-lidded. “All I have to say t’that is, you lot know who we are, sure, where we are when it comes to something like that, but those papers are a fuckin’ trap.”

“Not signing anything without Annie here, and I probably can't sign anyway,” she said with a shrug. “Don't … really want to have people poking at me to find out how crazy I am.”

She put a plate in front of Eddie, and sat down with her own, digging in. 

“That's entirely understandable. You're your own people - we could probably make a case that the Klyntar here are kind of refugees - ”

Dawn shook her head, suddenly. “Nuh huh, only V. Had to memorize all kinds of stuff for the GED. Sunny and Lash and Abby were born  _ here, _ so if the government agrees that they're people at all, then they're citizens.”

“... I mean, that's fair, all of that.” Nat picked at her food, looking woozy.

Eddie frowned at his plate. “It's that ‘if’ that worries me, t’be honest. This country here's tryin’ to say that perfectly normal human people ain't people ‘cos they've got a different skin color, you think they'll even think about it before saying V an’ everybody ain't people?” He stabbed some of the meat, some of the eggs, angrily. Pointing with the fork, he continued. “They'd treat us like  _ assets, _ ‘s what they'd do, property of the U.S. of A. rather'n citizens. ‘N’ if we don't play along with it, they'll, what,  _ decommission _ us.”

**“They could try.”** V's low growl rumbled from just behind the lady-spider; they’d formed from her shoulder, baring their fangs.

Eddie shook his head. “Love, you've mostly faced off with ignorant crooks ‘n’ people looking to capture you. If they come with intent to kill, it'll be fire.”

“The thing is that … it's the same as when the Accords were ratified in the first place,” the lady-spider said softly. She pressed her hand to her gut, rubbing absently. “Right now, you're relatively unknown. You can work with the governments of the world. If you refuse ….” She chewed on her bottom lip. 

“Miss Nat?” The Spider-Man’s voice was small and uncertain. “Why is it that I haven't had to sign this stuff, but they're maybe not even getting a choice?”

‘Miss Nat’ blew out a breath. “Because you're legally a minor, and Tony's thrown his weight around to shield you from it, basically?”

Eddie shook his head. “‘m sorry, but no. There's no fucking way you're getting me to sign away my right to tell the government to get fucked. I've spent too fucking long digging into all the abuses of power - hell, I can't set foot in the big apple anymore over digging in that dirt.”

“... even if the alternative is life in prison for the things you've done? Forcible separation from V -  _ no, _ I wouldn't support that. It  _ is _ low-hanging fruit, though, and you've  _ got _ to know that.”

Dawn inspected her plate, pushing around the last of the eggs. “Willing to help, when the fate of the world is in danger, but …” She frowned. “Want to just be left alone.” She felt her hair laying flatter, even, at the idea that they'd take Sunny away. Gold tendrils wrapped around her entire body, clinging tightly, shivering. “Not ‘heroes,’ not ‘villains,’ just  _ people! _ We didn't ask to get superpowers! We didn't even get paid for the testing!”

Gold wrapped around her fist as she slammed it gently against the table, the plates rattling anyway. Hey, she didn't break it. All eyes looked at her, and she felt the weight of it like a wet blanket around her shoulders. “All we want is to be left alone to be  _ people _ .”

“... and, unfortunately, it's quite likely that isn't going to be an option,” the spider lady said softly. “How did HYDRA know about you? How could they possibly know your weaknesses ahead of time?”

Lasher whined softly. Green caressed her skin, under the table, and a sick realization sunk into her heart. 

She closed her eyes. Sunny helped her parse the data, making the jumps one, two, three. “They had - agents, people who were working for them, people at LIFE. They took samples, they took research, they served as  _ hosts _ .”

Lash hadn't said anything because he was a dog, now. And he was  _ happy _ as a dog, much happier as a dog than a pawn. Sunny hadn't known to dig into Phage's memories. The danger was there, and they hadn't known to look for it. 

“Like it or not, then?  _ This _ is your fight, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (My sleep got fucked up but I finally have all of my meds back, blessed fucking be, have a chapter.)
> 
> Generally speaking that recipe goes better if you plan to cook it from the start. Meat, THEN frozen veggies, then the eggs (and generally you want to use like 4-6 in an average sized skillet).
> 
> It's yum!
> 
> Dawn's attempt landed squarely on the tasty side of edible, helped along by hunger, which is absolutely the best spice. 
> 
> I think my favorite part of GotG was, "BECAUSE I'M ONE OF THE IDIOTS WHO LIVES HERE."
> 
> Peter's used to waking up early because he's a student. I'm not entirely confident Nat and Eddie have actually been to sleep just yet. Dawn is legitimately just that much of a morning person. 
> 
> (BTW if you missed it, there's a couple new fics in the collection and one is supposed to be including smut sooner or later.)


	33. Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter has been cheating, but it's okay.

Aunt May had been less than thrilled by the idea that Peter would be spending the whole of his Thanksgiving break at the Avengers facility, but it was for a good cause. While Peter was very much not an official Avenger, Mr. Stark wanted to get the full measure of his abilities in a controlled environment. It seemed even more important now, with the fate of the world maybe hanging in the balance. 

She wouldn't have allowed it at all, except that it wasn't interfering with school, and it was explicitly to help make it a bit safer for him to  _ be _ Spider-Man. If they knew what his limits were, Karen could at least warn him about them - honestly, Peter was really grateful for Karen in general. 

He kind of wondered if these AIs ever got lonely - and if they did, he wanted to figure out some way to install Karen on his phone or his computer or something, so she could be around when when he wasn't being Spider-Man. It was probably dumb, but like - wasn't the Vision himself based on Jarvis? And Jarvis had been an AI like Karen or FRIDAY. 

Regardless, right now he  _ was _ being Spider-Man, and he was at the Avengers facility to figure out what his limits were. 

He had a sneaking suspicion it was for the same reason Mr. Stark thought it was important to know just how powerful the Klyntar could be - and why Mr. Stark wasn't super happy to find out that Mr. Brock had been downplaying their relative power. 

The problem was, they hadn't yet  _ found _ the actual upper limit of Spider-Man's physical strength. Peter was pretty sure it was slightly more than that building which had fallen on him, but it was sort of hard to quantify, really. 

Even with the existence of people like Captain America, there was just not much call for, say, a weight machine that could do multiple tons. He could definitely do at least one ton without any real trouble. His other powers were mostly related to just  _ not dying _ , which made them equally hard to quantify. Mr. Stark really didn't want to see him get hurt, so there wasn't a clear way to test how hard a hit he could take and still get up -  _ or _ what kind of turnaround there was on his healing factor, for that matter. 

So, right now, Mr. Stark was working on rigging up a proper test for his strength, and in the interim, Miss Nat had come up with a useful exercise for both Spider-Man and Scream. 

Apparently, Miss Nat was alien-pregnant, now? So, she wouldn't be participating in the exercise, but now that they knew that a) he had a kind of limited precognizance and b) it didn't really work on the Klyntar - well, obviously, it would be a good idea for him to learn to fight without his spider sense, just in case.

“Dawn, by the way.” She offered her hand for him to shake, and he did so, only feeling a little bit awkward. “And Sunny.” The little blob-monster poked its head out of her shoulder, watching the handshake before extending a thick, rust-red tendril to mimic the gesture as well as they could. 

He was kind of proud - he only hesitated a moment before taking the tentacle and shaking it once, firmly. “Peter. It's good to finally actually meet you properly, I guess. Sorry about freaking out on you guys earlier.”

“Well, we  _ were _ being weird,” she pointed out. “Miss - Nat? What rules for this spar, please?”

The Black Widow had produced a pair of folding chairs, and she was lounging in one, the pit bull relaxed at her feet. 

Mr. Brock, for his part, had taken a minute to call somebody, and the girl Mr. Stark had brought with him was apparently busy geeking out over FRIDAY. This little fight was just for Peter and - well, Scream, they called themselves. 

“Aim to incapacitate. No use of lethal force, no involving anyone on the sidelines. Otherwise, anything goes. The fight goes until one of you yields, or I tell you to stop.”

There was an odd look on Dawn's face, like she was thinking it through, and then she nodded. “We can do that if he can.” She glanced to Peter, and he gave her a thumbs up, pulling his mask down around his face. 

Now that he knew his persistent sense of alarm was a false one, he could appreciate how cool the alien looked as it moved, dozens of strands of golden goo melting together to form a ‘mask’ so complete it actually altered Dawn's facial structure. Splotches of rust-red swirled into being over her face, shoulders, legs, and arms, wrapping around her torso. He wondered if there was a point to that - and then, the colors shifted suddenly, leaving only a faint distortion at the edges of her body. 

“Woah! And you can just do that all the time?” It wasn't  _ too _ hard to track her movements as she circled around him - he couldn't help but know where the source of unimaginable  _ danger _ was, at any given moment. 

The thing was, the sense of warning never shifted into a bigger, more obvious threat. She lunged forward, and he only barely scrabbled out of the way, her claws easily tearing through his mask. If he'd been even a second slower, she would have caught his cheek.

“Your opponent appears to be using advanced camouflage. Would you like me to add thermal signatures to your heads-up display?” Karen was really helpful, even if she sort of still assumed he knew all of her functions. He'd never needed help seeing an invisible opponent, so how could he have known that a thermal display was even an option? 

He realized that his legs were in danger when what felt like a crowbar cracked across his shins, knocking him off balance. He yelped, but still managed to turn it onto a roll. “No, I'd really rather not - ” he began, before realizing Karen didn't do sarcasm, as such. “Yes, show me the invisible lady!”

**“Slow,”** their voice came from behind him, but as he turned, all he saw was a few thin tendrils twitching - no, vibrating - with the effort to create the decoy. He turned again, finding the bulk of their essence circling him. The symbiote was hotter than a normal human by a fair bit -

\- thicker cords wrapped around his chest and biceps, constricting, and that was kind of bullshit, really, but the more he struggled, the more the symbiote wrapped around him, and the worse his sixth sense was screaming at him that he basically had his head inside the monster's jaws. **“Must be hard when you can't cheat,”** they teased, a faint echo in their voice. The tentacles around his chest vibrated with their voice, and that kind of explained the earlier decoy, didn't it?  **“We win? (** I think so. He's stuck. **)”**

Their camouflage dropped, all at once, and they gently lifted him off his feet, presenting him like a prize. 

That was - something. That was definitely something else. He struggled, bringing his strength to bear on the cocoon, but it moved with him, the bands always shifting. He could kind of pry the whole thing open - for a moment or two - but without anything solid to latch onto, he was stuck in the goo.

“Mm, it does seem that way,” Miss Nat agreed. 

Peter wasn't quite ready to give up on the problem this presented, not just yet. “Karen? Taser webs.”

This, it turned out, might have been an excellent idea - in a real fight. 

A single scream of raw agony escaped their control, Sunny's golden essence rolling and twisting in agony around Dawn's body. 

The cocoon shredded itself apart, and a thick cord he dimly registered as rust-red cracked across his chest like a baseball bat swinging for a home run. They launched him away, the taser-web tearing a chunk of gold free. Another surge of red swirled around his chest, catching him in midair and slamming him into the ground with a sickening crunch, and he was down for the count. 

* * *

He woke to the dizzying sense of being two places - two people - at once. 

**Stupid spider,** a foreign voice grumbled in the back of his head, and he realized that the goo-monster - that Sunny - was inside of him,  _ fixing _ him. He could actually feel his bones shifting around inside of him, particularly his vertebrae, and a shared sense of  _ knowing _ informed him that bones and nerves took a good deal of energy and resources to fix, especially when they were still reeling from the electrical current that had run through them. 

He blinked, groggy, up at Dawn, who was watching him with a kind of detached focus. For a moment, he could see himself, and even behind the mask, he could acknowledge he looked pretty rough.

“Your family would be upset if we left you broken. Shhh.”

Something - holy  _ hell,  _ something enormous was looming behind her, a geometric pattern of swirling tentacles and sharp edges that vaguely resembled an eye. A sense of all-consuming panic surged in his chest, before it simply ... fell flat. 

“Shh. Don't look at it. It isn't real, it'll go away when we're done.” She patted his shoulder gently, and - huh. Weird. His spider sense no longer registered any threat there - in fact, he could only feel a vague sense of comforting familiarity from the Klyntar.

He felt faint exasperation.  **Learned to disarm defenses** **_first,_ ** **Spider. Symbiosis doesn't work if the host fights us.**

“So … am I imagining it, or is there a me-shaped dent in this concrete?”

**_“You hurt us,”_ ** Dawn said, Sunny's voice echoing inside his own skull. “We can try to fix the ground, but people are not for replacing so you get fixed first.”

He started to nod, before every single one of his muscles locked up. They rendered him numb - and, more importantly, immobile - from the neck down, which should probably be alarming, except that he couldn't seem to really do alarm right now, like at all. 

“Did … did you break my spine?” He frowned, faintly, trying to move even his fingertips. Nope, nothing. 

A vague grumble. “Sunny says it's more like we put all the bones out of place and they were doing not-so-good things to your nerves and your muscles weren't helping … and also maybe a little chipping? You're  _ really _ durable. We're not sure we could actually break your bones. Maybe.”

**Like this, we could, but that would defeat the purpose.**

He considered that, but he didn't get much further than a muddy, “Huh.”

**Done.** The sense of warmth gathered in his chest, preparing to retract into Dawn's hand. 

“Can you give me eye shine too?” He asked it without thinking, still feeling fuzzy around the edges. 

They paused.  **We could. It would mark you. If you truly don't want to be known, to be** **_different,_ ** **you do not want that.**

“That's smart,” he mumbled, and then they drew back. His sense of touch came back online, his muscles began responding to his commands, and the golden shadow surged fully back into Dawn. 

The Eye closed, before winking out of existence as though it had never been. 

He frowned, looking around. “Uhm. Where did Miss Nat go?”

“She … We screamed, Spider. You hurt us. V doesn't do well with sounds like that, that's why FRIDAY wasn't supposed to do the alarms. There's … well.” She gnawed at her lip, looking down and away for a moment. “We didn't mean it, it just came out - ”

He frowned, sitting up out of the small crater that he'd been laying in. The concrete had shattered on impact, spiderwebbing outward from where he'd landed. It honestly looked like it should have hurt. “Are they okay?”

“They're having a baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not, like, immediately, though.


	34. Toxin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which certain things become obvious.

It's possible that V had made a mistake. 

Staggering towards their sleeping quarters, clutching at her stomach as their offspring threatened to tear free of her abdomen, the Widow was inclined to agree. 

Yes, technically, they spawn every couple of years-or-so, it's not generally a huge deal, and their offspring survive - or don't - and that's just how it is. But this time, they decided to make it  _ romantic, _ and that's probably where they had gone wrong, because this new life, this baby, was almost certainly not fully Klyntar.

They wanted this spawn to be Eddie's, too, after all. They were basically married, and children seemed like the obvious next step. That's what all the human media said, anyway. 

The thing was, it was still far too early - at least a week-or-so - for the baby to be able to survive on its own, and yet, it tore at the Widow with worrying ferocity, chewing at the walls of her uterus, spilling blood. 

She found this funny. 

This, apparently, was the purpose behind that monthly bleeding ritual - humans were vicious survivors, willing to tear their mothers to shreds if it meant they would get enough nutrients for themselves. At this stage, their offspring shouldn't even really be aware of itself as a separate entity, much less capable of any kind of self-defense. But humans were individuals. They were survivors. 

In human mothers, the womb built thick layers of bloody tissue, to nurture the young and protect the host. V wasn't sure of how to trigger such a change, but they had to do something,  _ now, _ or their current host might die, and their spawn would be a danger to Eddie. Neither outcome was acceptable. 

V underscored the bond between them, wrapping themselves a little deeper within the Widow, attuning themselves to her body. The wounds closed easily enough, but the child hadn't merely lashed out because of Scream's attack. Other, smaller subsystems had awakened, Nat's immune system reacting to the foreign invader that no longer read like her own cellular structure. 

It wasn't even a question: Klyntar were vicious survivors, too, after all. The Widow was more than just a  _ worthy _ addition to their offspring's genetic code: she was a necessary one. 

So they made the changes, they built up the connection between themself and the Widow, they tricked her body into believing that the baby was a part of her. The egg's spongy ‘shell’ was cannibalized to create the lining of the womb - it served roughly the same purpose, after all.

As they worked, more noticeable, physical changes took place. The Widow's wonderfully pliable form, still holding onto the potential energy of their grand feast, took the excess mass and converted it into rapid growth - both in her own body and that of their spawn. 

“... are my tits getting bigger?”

**Yes,** though that was hardly the focus of their efforts. Her belly swelled, as well, reflecting the relative development of their offspring. 

This was both alarming - human reproduction just  _ didn't _ happen over the course of a couple weeks - and yet deeply, deeply welcome. Humans had a way of yearning for the things they could never have, and as Nat clutched at her belly, tears welled up. She had wanted this ever since she had learned it was impossible. 

And now they’d done it, in a mad bid to save their offspring's life. 

Eddie's body couldn't have sustained such a dramatic change without severe consequences. 

The Widow? She was  _ flexible _ . 

“... well, that's new.” Eddie found her, leaning against the wall in the little bathroom they'd shared the previous night, and V wanted to kiss him. They  _ desperately _ wanted to kiss him.

Maybe not right now. 

“Your, ah! Fuck. Your kid has a - helluva kick, Brock.” She clutched at her lower abdomen, massaging the skin there, gently.

And Eddie looked worried. “Are you okay? All of you?” He gestured vaguely, encompassing the noticeable bump, the rest of her body, even - they suspected - including V.

“I've been shot. Few times, actually. Think - this might have been worse,” she admitted, and V encouraged a few more of those feel-good chemicals to escape her brain and soothe the residual ache.

Eddie winced. “Let's - let's get you to a doctor, okay?”

* * *

So, it turned out that ultrasounds were absolutely not an option. They tried it about once before deciding that no, nope, absolutely not, that wasn't happening. The noise just never left the harmful range.

Nat saw wickedly sharp teeth embossed on her now-taut baby bump, and decided that no, she didn't really need an image of their unborn, after all.

“Have you boys thought about naming them?” She was lounging in a maternity gown, dozens of little wires sticking to her skin and trailing off the sides of the hospital bed/cage. Apparently, the cage was to protect the person in the bed, which made a kind of sense, anyway. Humans, V had learned, are shockingly durable right up until they aren't. “Your child?”

Eddie blinked, slowly, then blinked again.

He hadn't. V considered, rolling the thought through their own essence.  **“Klyntar spawn - relatively mature. Our offspring will be able to choose their own name.”**

“Huh. I can't imagine the name you picked all those millenia ago was in English,” Nat mused, idly. “What did you call yourself, then?”

They pressed their name against her mind. Patience, subtlety, the silence of the void - the shadow of the abyss. An undercurrent - lulling their prey into complacency, the strength in being underestimated. Naturally, it wouldn't do for a conquest-name; most species spoke aloud. Telepathy was simply not the norm; few species’ survival hinged on being able to communicate mentally.  _ Venom _ , as it translated to English, encompassed enough of their ideals to get the point across. 

Before Eddie, they'd used variants on that name in every galactic tongue they'd used on the road to conquest. They were no longer conquerors, however, and now only took up that mantle to protect Eddie. Venom, their name in English, became synonymous with the impossible perfection of their symbiosis. V, a fond nickname, would suffice to describe them when they were separate from their beloved. 

“I asked that, too, you know?” Eddie offered his lopsided grin, unknowingly going to echo V's thoughts. “They seem all right with ‘V,’ since us flawed mortals communicate so crudely.” He reached out to caress their tendrils, finally catching the hint that they would appreciate his attention. In response, they pressed their head into his hand, encouragingly.

Eddie was a good host, even if he wasn't being their host right then. 

She considered that, idly. “So, your kid's gonna need a human-pronounceable name, too, though, yeah?” Her mind rolled over a few dozen words, picking through synonyms in various languages. “Why not … I dunno, Toxin, after your bond? It's you guys, together, who make up Venom, right?”

Eddie looked thoughtful, at that. 

Knuckles rapped against the doorframe. “So, when exactly did you plan on telling me about this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey, it's this nerd! 
> 
> Props to everybody who guessed (correctly) at my tendency to just drastically change characters who already exist! 
> 
> Personality-wise it's probably gonna be unrecognizable, backstory-wise it's technically following Sleeper along, powers-wise, branched off of Toxin as-seen-on-the-wiki.
> 
> -throws confetti-


	35. Conciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony Stark has had exactly one (1) therapy session.

Therapy had gone swell.

Dr. Bloom was a lovely young woman, a brunette who refused to fall for Tony's bullshit, which was exactly what he'd wanted, thanks.

Even better, she was willing to work with him on the video conferencing thing, since he was literally a superhero, saved the world and all, and that made him a particular kind of busy.

Between actually working to save the world, trying to be the kind of supportive father-figure Peter deserved, and trying to keep the governments of the world from doing the exact bullshit Cap had predicted - damn it, Steve - he spent a good deal of time roughly everywhere, and very little of it in bed.

Which, given the nightmares? Yeah, that worked for him.

“You look like shit,” the words had kind of just escaped Dr. Bloom, he was pretty sure, but then she decided to double down. “No, seriously. When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?”

Before New York.

That was practically a lifetime ago, but he remembered it vividly. He remembered escorting the damned nuke through the portal. He remembered dying, at least for a few moments. He remembered the isolation. He found out later that Pepper had been watching the fight so closely that she hadn't seen the call at all, actually, not until after.

He remembered the armada, and the soul-deep knowledge that one nuke wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

The thing was that Tony Stark, better than anyone else on Earth, knew just how horribly, hopelessly outmatched they were. It was why he was always pushing. It was why he'd built Ultron, why (when that went tits-up) he'd created Vision in Ultron's stead.

Humanity, as a whole, would be absolutely _fucked_ the moment this ‘Thanos’ character decided to finish bullshitting around the galaxy and focus the whole of his might on Tony’s little blue ball.

And - not for nothing, but Tony fucking _loved_ that little blue ball.

It was why he'd doubled down on his company's environmental reforms, why he pushed so hard to show the world that it was possible to change over to an energy source that wouldn't devastate the planet. It was why, after he gave the majority over, he kept at it with Pepper, kept pushing her to keep those changes when the board chafed, when their oil company bribes demanded they fall in line, because what good was saving the world if the world wasn't left alive to save?

In that kind of big-picture lighting, weird cannibalistic aliens? As long as they were there to save the Earth rather than end it, Tony could overlook a myriad of flaws.

And, _yeah,_ he had the recordings. This wasn't just a Dr. Banner and Mr. Hulk situation, okay, these aliens were a whole other level of fucked up. They had eaten people, they had the kind of appendages Tony had sort of hoped only existed in weird, niche, fetish porn, and against conventional weaponry, they were damn near indestructible.

However.

He _did_ have the recordings.

Whatever other sins this little family of aliens had committed, the big one had literally saved the fucking planet. They'd turned against their own people to prevent yet another fucking catastrophe from ending up on Tony's plate.

Now that he'd gotten a chance to observe them, they were literally just … people. Gooey, toothy, symbiotic, body-hopping people, but people nonetheless.

Which made his own actions pretty inexcusable.

He'd have to make up for that, and hell, picking up Leslie and her dog was a start. He figured he'd have a new house built for them, see about finding a way to incorporate more security. If HYDRA wanted to fuck with them, well, one sure way to improve relations was a mutual enemy, right?

So yeah, therapy had gone swell.

He was pretty sure Dr. Bloom had called off her remaining appointments for the day and gone to get thoroughly drunk, but it wasn't like she hadn't known what she was signing up for, here. Tony Stark was Iron Man, and aside from Cap, he was the most famous of the Avengers. You don't save the world without a little baggage, at least, that's what Tony figured.

He was feeling pretty good, actually, having gotten some of that off his chest. External validation was pretty great, too.

So, he picked up that unmarked flip phone, and he stared at it for a long moment. He hesitated, before laboriously tapping out a text message. He even took the extra time to put in actual capitalization and punctuation one-handed, because damn it, but this was important.

Big picture time - when it came down to the wire? The Avengers could _not_ afford to be this understaffed. This bullshit attack shouldn't have gotten through the front door.

**Tony:** Steve - it's me. No emergency, I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

* * *

Of course, it turned out that there were even more complications than he had already accounted for.

“Boss? It's Nat. She's hurt.”

So, Tony peeled himself out of his lab and made his way down to medical.

And that's when he found out about the xenomorph-style holiday fucking miracle currently infesting the terrifying spy he genuinely thought of as an older sibling.

“So, when exactly did you plan on telling me about this?”

Five, Dr. Strange had said. Strange - what kind of a fucking name was that. But it made a kind of sense, didn't it? They'd gotten distracted, and then nobody had the energy for another protracted discussion right then.

Nat shrugged slightly, leaning back in the bed. “I was gonna bring it up after the kids went to bed, but then a wizard opened a hole in reality and we all got to talking about the hypothetical end of the world, and that seemed a little bit more important at the time.”

“And you're okay with this?” He gestured vaguely at the changes it had wrought to her body. “You're going to be okay?”

She raised an eyebrow, then nodded firmly. “It'll go over a hell of a lot better for me than it would this chump, I'll tell you that much.” She gestured at Eddie, then gently, carefully adjusted her IV.

“And why is that?”

The eyebrow fell, and she fixed him with a _look._ “Tony, please tell me you haven't gotten this far without learning where babies come from.”

“I mean, last I checked, the stork didn't deliver goo monsters from space, just saying.” He frowned softly. “You're sure you're okay with this? I - I mean it, Nat, you're like family to me.”

And she nodded, because of course the killer for hire was more selfless than Tony Stark.

“Can I just say I'm really grateful, too?” Eddie piped up, suddenly. “Like, from what you were saying, what V was saying, there's a pretty solid chance that Junior wouldn't have left me in very good shape, what with the teeth.”

The blob of goo reconstituted itself into a head and neck, at least, in order to speak in a voice that sounded like the cookie monster's chain smoking cousin. **“Didn't mean it, Eddie. Wanted it to be special. Humans are weird.”** The white splotches it formed to impersonate eyes tilted slightly, its mouth formed into an impressively toothless maw, and it managed an expression of genuine sorrow.

 _“We're_ weird,” Tony repeated, just to try and wrap his head around what the oil spill with teeth had just said.

It fixed those eyespots on him. **“Are you aware how many toxin filters exist in the human body?”** They asked, and the maw grew teeth. **“They would not be necessary, except you voluntarily consume poison for recreational purposes.”**

Tony supposed he didn't have enough experience with actual alien species to have any idea what the baseline actually was. “Go on,” he said, because now he was kind of curious.

 **“You undergo surgery for cosmetic purposes. You inject ink under your skin by allowing an artist to injure you thousands of times. You perform ritualistic scarification in order to alter your appearance. Your planet’s surface has some of the most extreme biome variations of any that can sustain life, and you have found ways to thrive in all of them.”** Apparently, this was going to be a rant about human durability, which made a kind of sense; Tony gathered that human endurance was pretty rare on Earth, too. **“You can survive nearly any injury that does not immediately kill you. Do you think our offspring could have saved Dawn, if not for her own strength?”** They paused. **“I am not wholly certain that the Swarm could have killed humanity, even if we had come in force. Your species would have taken it as a challenge.”**

Eddie grinned at this, piping up cheerfully. “You forgot the bit about pack bonding, dear.”

**“YOU FORM PACK BONDS WITH INANIMATE OBJECTS. IT IS WEIRD.”**

Nat started laughing - like, an actual, full-bodied laugh - and Tony tried to remember when he'd last seen her do more than quietly smirk. Suddenly, all this alien nonsense seemed worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it Friday? -counts on fingers- so it is! 
> 
> My bad. 
> 
> Time is hard, yo.
> 
> I'm sticking with the green/gray for consistency even though different phones would have different UIs. I'm lazy like that.


	36. Molecular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one should always try to clean up their own messes.

The next day passed mostly without incident.

Peter returned to his home. Leslie was busy learning what really advanced technology looked like. Lash was with her, protecting her, and Eddie was distracting himself from worrying about V by hitting the gym.

Apparently, Eddie was superhuman on his own, now.

It wasn't as obvious as with Peter, but he was stronger than he should be, his bones and muscles reinforced beyond human capacity, and he just didn't really get tired, as such.

For her part, Miss Nat spent a couple of hours teaching Dawn how to fight as just a stronger-than-normal human.

It was nice. She learned how to throw someone if they tried to grab her, and they practiced it until she mostly put Happy on the ground instead of outside the ring.

By noon, nobody had yet done anything with the concrete, and unlike the shattered glass, all the composite pieces were still there.

Wood had been easy enough.

This was their fault, so it felt right that they should try and fix it. Nobody was watching, because the people who were here all had more important work to do. Dawn knelt, pressing her hands to the concrete, and Sunny spread between the molecules.

A faint hum sounded above them and to the left, sparks swirling outward. They paused, waiting. He had seemed nice, the magic-man, when Dawn remembered Sunny's meeting.

He dressed fancy. His beard and his hair and his outfit were all tightly-controlled, pristine in their presentation. The cloak fluttered against the wind, because of course it did; it was a living thing. “Hullo,” Dawn offered, and she nudged Sunny to continue working their way through the pieces of concrete.

“Ah - hi. I don't believe we've met …?”

She glanced up at him. “Dawn. You met Sunny last night. Are you really a doctor?”

“I - yes. A neurosurgeon, actually. May I ask what you - and, Sunny is it - are doing?”

A faint shrug. Gold seeped between the cracks, and they spread to the next chunk of stone. “We broke this. It seemed right to put it back.”

“And … that would be the energy spike that I caught, just now?”

She considered. “Answer any question you like, if you’re quiet for us to finish here.”

 **He doesn't trust us,** Sunny grumbled, extending further. They'd almost threaded through the entire smallish crater, by now.

For his part, the doctor was watching with fascination. The sparking portal had dissipated without a trace, which was good; it was distracting. “By all means,” he murmured, though he started doing something with his hands, idly. Lines traced themselves into being, thin, fiery, almost-real threads that shivered with power.

That was distracting, too, but they did their best to put it out of their minds.

Sunny had managed to work their way through all of the broken stone, and so together, they lifted, settling the dirt back in and under the concrete. Simple movement, Dawn could manage. She wasn't Klyntar, however; she wasn't _designed_ to be part of something else.

Her _other_ melted into the stone, and then the stone itself melted, warm under the thin light of the late autumn sun. It slid together, becoming an unbroken whole, before stabilizing. Then, they slowly, carefully withdrew, returning fully inside of Dawn's skin. For a moment, they felt scratchy, like sandpaper inside of her veins, and then she felt a bit dry, her tongue sticking inside of her mouth.

But it was done. The concrete was fixed; she’d tell FRIDAY, who would tell Mr. Stark.

“Done,” she said, simply, standing slowly.

She barely came up to his chest. Everybody was so much taller than her, except Miss Nat and Peter. **Is okay,** Sunny purred. **We're small; they don't know we're a threat.**

Dawn … kind of liked that idea.

“I don't suppose you'd care to explain what it is you did, just now …?” He gestured at the unbroken stone, then carefully poked at it with his foot. Finding it solid, he stepped onto it.

Oh. He wanted words. Suppressing an internal groan, she tried to piece it together. “It was broken. We fixed it.”

“I saw that much, but how, exactly?”

And she went blank, because if there even _were_ words for what they'd done, she didn't have them. Sunny formed from her collarbone, coiling around the back of her neck before directing their attention to the magic doctor man. **“Bonded the rock. Easier than healing a human; the pieces are all the same thing.”** They licked Dawn's cheek, affectionately, to remind her that they liked the weird mishmash of organs that formed her body, and she giggled, scraping her fingertips against their skull.

“I - see. You're Sunny, then, the Klyntar? I … had a few questions, if you don't mind answering.”

Dawn frowned, slightly. They spoke in unison: _**“Why us?”** _

“Well, for one, that little energy surge led me to you, so for the moment, it's convenient. For another … ” He kind of just fixed them both with an appraising stare. “Do you two actually realize how rare an opportunity it is to encounter a Klyntar that isn't actively trying to murder or dominate everything in its path?”

There was a moment of silence. Two. **“Yes?”**

Like … intellectually, yeah, that seemed accurate. V remembered countless worlds, consumed and discarded before the swarm.

“Let me just make sure we're on the same page, anyway: I'm part of an order that tracks all manner of threats to our world. We protect Earth from the big, galactic-level powers.” He reached out his right hand, twisting it, and Sunny swirled, uneasily, as lines of golden flame wrapped around his fingertips, forming into complex, geometric shapes. “Since the dawn of recorded history, there has been _one_ instance of your species arriving on this planet. Between that single encounter and a few anecdotes we've gleaned from other sources, the Klyntar are regarded as a planetary threat.”

She shrugged, uncertainly. Sunny knew that was all probably true (the man wasn't lying, and moreover, it fit), but ….

 **“Conquest is … ”** They considered. **“Love Dawn. Love** **_us._ ** **Our lineage - outcast. Unwanted, tainted. V is our parent; V believes in symbiosis.”** They shook their head. **“Conquest puts us in danger, puts Dawn in danger, puts our hive, our family, in danger. We want to learn, to see, to grow, to** **_be._ ** **No conquest; we would not know what to do with a broken world anyway.”** A firm nod finished their speech.

Dawn nuzzled her forehead against Sunny, absently. “Love you,” she agreed. “Love _us.”_

“And … that's all charming, but - what do _you_ gain from this?” The doctor frowned, clearly still digesting Sunny's speech.

She kind of just looked at him. “Superpowers,” she said, holding up one forefinger. “Sanity. We - I am - schizophrenic, or - something.” She lifted her second finger. “They help - fix my brain, they - uhm, help me know what is real, and not.” She raised a third finger. “Companionship - family. Them, Eddie, everyone. All of us, family.”

“You're schizophrenic,” he repeated, disbelief in his tone. Then he let it sink in for a second, frowned a little more deeply as she folded her arms, and repeated himself: “You're schizophrenic."

She scowled up at him. “Done yet?”

“It's just - does your illness impact your - Sunny? Are they more unstable for it?” He had the kind of look of the doctors from the LIFE Foundation, and she suddenly felt uneasy, a full-body shiver rolling through her as he continued to stare in fascination.

She dropped her gaze, immediately, looking away. Sunny coiled around her again, thin tendrils wrapping around her sides, under her shirt. **“Some,”** they admitted. **“Not how you think. There are difficulties, yes. Dawn is not so good with speaking, not so clear at thinking. We learn from our hosts, adapt, and grow.** ”

“I see. And what have you learned from Dawn, if I may?”

It was easier, when he was looking at Sunny. They were interesting, _important_ in a way that Dawn was not. She reached up, gently, scraping her fingers through their essence.

 **“I have learned that humans are easy to judge,”** they said, baring their teeth in an unfriendly smile. **“See how you react to the vulnerable, the helpless, those you see as weak. Says much of you.”**

He seemed taken aback, somewhat, and Sunny shared the dumbfounded look on his face. _Thank you, love._

“Dawn!” Mr. Stark’s running footsteps were still a good distance away. They tensed, gold threading through her hair, but thus far, Mr. Stark hadn't tried to kill them again. “I was wondering where you'd gotten to - Strange.”

She stepped back, slightly, uncertain, making herself just a bit smaller, less important. The adults would want to talk to each other; she was not important. She _wasn't._

“I was just checking in with your little friend here - did you know, the Klyntar give off a rather unique energy signature when they form a bond? At least, that's my hypothesis … ”

Sunny nuzzled their forehead against Dawn's cheek, reassuringly. She felt - bad, a bit. She'd drawn attention to herself, which was Bad.

“Really. Is _that_ what was happening out here?”

He sounded like Father, right before Father decided that whatever had happened was All Dawn's Fault, and once again, her mind went blank, her eyes went wide, and words abandoned her. She hugged herself, and Sunny hugged her, in turn.

 **“After a fashion,”** they spoke, voice low. **“We sought to repair some of the damages, and stone was easy enough to reconstitute.”**

Dr. Strange looked eager, again. “I would like to - ”

“Are you bothering her?” Mr. Stark asked abruptly. “Is he bothering you, kid, because you don't have to talk to anybody you don't want to. Just, throwing it out there.”

She didn't quite understand the question, not exactly, because the context felt wrong, the situation was confusing. She bit her lip, inspecting the ground, trembling slightly. Too much - everything was too much, and she felt so, very fragile -

Sunny swarmed over her skin, suddenly, mimicking the colors around her. As they fled, invisible to normal vision, they could still hear Mr. Stark speaking.

“Word of advice? Don't corner the kid. It doesn't end well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In times of stress, Tony Stark has been known to spontaneously adopt children.


	37. Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eddie is doing his best.

Eddie Brock wasn't really good at sitting in one place. He was terrible at waiting around - hell, that was a bigger problem for him than the fact the meditation CDs were in Chinese. He just couldn't wrap his brain around the stillness and silence of it all for more than a few minutes, before he felt the need to get up and do something,  _ anything _ . 

He might have been (more than) a little disgusted with the kind of wealth required to maintain this kind of facility, but there was no denying the practical perks: they had a full gym on-site.

Before Venom, he'd been pretty fit - it came as a natural sort of consequence of using exercise as a quick escape from having to actually  _ experience _ his feelings. 

Right now, separate, alone in his own head, blood on his hands and fear in his heart, Eddie had a lot of feelings he didn't much want to be experiencing.

He didn't want to think about the panicky college-aged kid who'd stumbled into him. He didn't want to think about the guy's swastika tattoo peeking out from under his gear. He didn't want to think about the gunshot tearing through his arm, or how easy it had been to snap the asshole's neck despite the pain. Sunny fixed the wound - there wasn't even a scar - but the memory wouldn't just go away that easily. 

He definitely didn't want to think about sex, or just how nonchalant the Black fucking Widow (“Call me Nat,”) was about it. He didn't want to think about how it probably didn't mean anything to her, because Eddie's always been too fucking clingy for meaningless sex. He knew that already and he still went for it, like an idiot, because he's never claimed to not be an idiot. She was shockingly gentle, and tender, and in that moment of intimacy, he had convinced himself that she at least  _ liked _ him. 

And then, also, what the hell would he do if it  _ did _ mean something? He's nowhere the fuck near her league, but especially not without V, who was currently cozy inside her body because his just  _ wasn't good enough _ and -

Okay, yeah, he definitely didn't want to think about anything, right now. Time to throw  _ all of that _ into something productive … ish.

After they'd bonded, V had started tweaking his physiology. He wasn't exactly  _ defined _ anymore - they ate too much, for that, and V  _ liked _ that human bodies stored excess energy for later use - but he'd gained even more muscle under the healthy layer of fat they'd managed to develop. In practice, this sort of meant that even without V's direct help, he could push himself harder, lift more, and run farther before he even noticed he was getting tired. 

He'd stripped off his shirt somewhere in the first hour, and then he'd kind of lost track of time. He was pouring another bottle of water down his throat when Dawn appeared next to him. She paused for only a moment, making sure he knew she was there, before she wrapped her own arms and Sunny's tentacles around him in a hug that - had V not thoroughly reinforced his body - would have been bone-crushing.

Eddie was sort of proud of the fact he took all of this in stride. One arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other gently setting his water bottle down on the nearest flat surface available, which turned out to be a bench. 

“Hey, kiddo, what's up?” Her shoulders began shaking, and he frowned faintly, wrapping both arms around her. Her breath hitched in the way he knew from his own childhood. She was crying, and trying to silence herself. Something had shaken her - he had to remind himself that she was a hell of a lot more fragile than she seemed. “What's wrong? What happened?”

It took several long moments, and when he finally got an answer, it was from Sunny's smallish maw.  **“The doctor, from before - he asked us questions, kept prying - she thinks - she is worried** **_she_ ** **is bad for** **_us_ ** **.”**

“No,” he said softly, and he squeezed a little tighter. “Dawn, honey, no.” Was it hypocritical, knowing that he'd been dealing with the exact same thoughts about his own bond? Probably. He knew all about that kind of self-doubt - how many times had he asked V to find someone better, someone who wasn't a complete fuckup? And now, they had Nat.

Enormous, teary, green eyes looked up at him through a veil of copper hair. “Is true. Am crazy, am  _ bad.” _

**“No,”** Sunny replied, and Eddie felt their tentacles shifting around her torso, squeezing around her ribs in a tight hug. 

He mirrored the gesture with his own arms, squeezing them both. “No,” he agreed, smiling down at her softly. “You're smart, and strong, and sometimes you get your wires crossed, but you're a good kid, and Sunny is lucky to have found a host like you.”

**“Yes,”** they agreed, and she shuddered, clinging tightly to him. For several long minutes, that was it; girl and symbiote struggled to regain control of their emotions, and Eddie did his best to support them. 

Finally, Scream pulled back, and the mask slid away entirely. Gold sank under pale skin, and Dawn made a face. “You need a shower,” she informed him. “Sweaty.”

“That happens,” he replied, grinning softly as he ruffled her hair. 

She smiled, and Eddie felt warmth gather in his heart: he might not be able to help V right then, but he wasn't useless, after all. Dawn chewed at her lip, hesitantly, reaching up to trace one of the tattoos on his chest - a raven with wings outstretched. “Can we get one?” She asked, suddenly. “Want our own mark, to hide the scar. To take our skin back.”

There was a kind of splotchy, pink patch of skin peeking out from under her shirt, and yet - he imagined her three months ago, the skittish girl who kept checking to make  _ sure _ he wasn't angry. Back then, she would never have asked for such a gift; she'd been afraid he was counting the cost, and she wouldn't be able to pay him back for his kindness. It was good to see that she'd grown out of such a fear.

“Sure, kiddo.” He settled into the bench, narrowly avoiding tipping over his water bottle. “What are we thinking, huh?”

* * *

They talked over the specifics of Dawn's idea, and Eddie reminded Sunny that they'd need to let the tattoo heal over naturally. He didn't know very many people on this coast - at least, not many who would still do business with him. That meant research, which was something he could do, at least. 

It was still something of an issue that Eddie had been run out of New York. 

While  _ Venom _ could deal with any of his old acquaintances, Eddie wasn't sold on the idea of being out as a superhero, not the way Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were. His relative privacy offered a degree of safety - before V, nobody had targeted him without a pretty compelling reason, and mostly, the threats that had come for him were the sort that could be punched in the teeth until they stopped being threats. 

_“There_ you are. I should have guessed.”

Dawn stiffened at Eddie's side, and he glanced to her before looking at Stark.

“Are we in trouble?” Tendrils shifted under her shirt, subtle enough Eddie wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't still touching her, still reassuring her as well as he could. In a lot of ways, Sunny was just like V.

Stark shook his head. “Nope. Kind of impressed, actually, I had a look at your work and if I hadn't seen the damage yesterday, I wouldn't have known the cement had even been broken.” He smiled, and it didn't look too terribly forced. 

“Huh.” Eddie looked to Dawn, thoughtfully. “You guys patched up cement?” He knew they had a knack for fixing things, but ….

Dawn ducked her head, embarrassed. “Mostly Sunny.”

**“Would not have thought to, without Dawn.”** Apparently, they wouldn't allow her to dismiss her own part in the work, and Eddie was glad for them; he couldn't imagine Dawn had ever received much praise.  **“Would not have known to even try.”**

Stark seemed to be coming to terms with the weirdness he'd brought into his home; his eye barely twitched at the sight of the small symbiote poking out of her skin. “So we'll call it fifty-fifty, whatever. I was wondering if I could borrow you kids to test something for me?”

**“Hm?”** Green eyes and swirling eyespots fixed on Stark. The pair moved in a kind of unison that was almost uncanny - sometimes, it was easy to forget that Scream was two individuals. 

That earned a minor twitch from the billionaire, at least, and Eddie did his best not to smirk at the man's discomfort. “Your dad can come too, if you want, make it kind of a family event - Nat says you kicked Spider-Man's ass yesterday, and other than the kid, we're woefully understaffed when it comes to, you know, just about everything, actually, but specifically enhanced people.”

“So - what, some kind of training thing, then?” Eddie clarified, because Dawn would be all too eager to help. It was funny - she never counted her own kindnesses, let them go unnoticed, but she expected others to tally up the cost of dealing with her. 

Thank god she had Sunny. Hell, thank  _ Sunny _ that they'd stuck around for her. 

Stark nodded. “Something like that. It's supposed to adaptively measure enhanced strength - basically, to try and find someone's theoretical limits. I mean … everyone here, at least, is - or was - human. There's no real accounting for adrenaline response, and I don't want to put anybody in danger. There  _ is _ something to be said for actually knowing where the baseline is, though.”

Dawn was frowning in that way that meant she was consulting with Sunny, their attention turned inward. She held up a finger, then finally replied: “Our strength kind of - varies. Mine is stable, Eddie's is probably stable right now, but Klyntar kind of - ” She gestured, vaguely, reaching for the word. 

**“We feast, and become strong. More food, stronger us.”**

Stark considered, tapping his fingertips on his own chin. “All right, that's fine. That works for me. Come on, then - if you're willing to try it out - I'll show you up to the lab, and we can get started.”

Eddie knew it was probably partly a play for information. He wanted to know what he'd need to be able to restrain them, if it ever came to that. 

But there was a clear advantage to collaborating with the tech-head. “One condition,” he said, holding up a finger. 

All eyes looked at him. 

“I'm sorry?” The man didn't quite manage to sound offended. 

Eddie considered how to phrase the request. “I want you to build something, something for V. They're - important to me, Stark. I'm getting really fucking tired of having to see them get hurt for me. I'll work with you, sign off on Dawn working with you, whatever, but I want you to build a shield for them. Something to keep them safe the next time an asshole with a megaphone decides to start shit.”

“You know what?” Stark extended a hand. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If more of the hyper rich were as generous as Tony Stark, the world would be a better place. 
> 
> Just saying.


	38. Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is calm for a moment.

A shield around the world.

That had been his goal, once upon a time, and it still sort of was. That little blue ball quite literally meant the world to him, and it was so very vulnerable.

And yet, as he put the enthusiastic little redhead through her paces, as her muscles swelled with effort and she managed, straining only slightly, to lift just over one ton?

Well, in that moment, with her beaming pride at her own dad, and the little goo-monster nuzzling her cheek - he finally saw what Steve was getting at. A shield made of people, of individuals, who all had vital reasons to protect their home - it wasn't ideal; people could get hurt - but it was _something_.

The monster moved with all the impossible grace of a sapient liquid, thousands of strands of golden fluid wrapping over, under, and through her skin. The deep tissue scan clearly displayed the girl's body within the monster, safe inside of the outer shell. Less clear was the inside of the monster's body: it seemed uniform in composition. The tentacles that they chose to color in red weren't actually much different from the ones in gold - it was just that they were even more dense.

**“Easier like this,”** they explained, and the machine poured on weight until it hit a new theoretical maximum.

That was - that was a lot. Tony Stark was very fucking smart, okay, he knew what those numbers meant in the abstract, it was just wrapping his brain around those numbers compared to that delicate little body.

**“But we can do - V does it like this, usually; safer, kind of - ”** The machine dutifully noted that they were producing sound by vibrating the molecules of their body, rather than drawing in air; that was why Scream's maw never seemed to move.

The screen _also_ clearly displayed the girl’s human body dissolving into more of the same super-strong goo that made up the rest of the monster.

No wonder they'd been able to heal so completely. “You can put her back, right?”

**“Of course. We like Dawn, wouldn't hurt her for anyone. (** I'm fine, **)”** the girl’s voice, unaltered, chimed from a thin, golden tendril. **“(** I promise. **) We promise.”**

The goo swelled somewhat. As it worked to hold ever more absurd weights, the tendrils that impersonated a mane shrunk. The fluid packed more densely, and more densely still, until the muscular body was impenetrable to scans and the head appeared bald.

The machinery hit its limit, first.

**“It stopped,”** they commented, a sense of wonder in their tone. **“Wow. Is this a lot? It feels like a lot.”**

Tony decided to take a sip of his coffee, to steady himself, before replying. “Yeah, kid. That's a lot. I'm going to - I'm gonna ease it off now, so … just, so you know.”

He had the machine slowly release the weight, the numbers rapidly cycling back down. Scream staggered backwards, their movements stiff, unyieldingly solid, until suddenly, there was something not entirely unlike a loud, ‘pop!’

Gold disintegrated into a puddle, swarming wildly around the room, literally bouncing off the walls. **_“Woah,”_ ** the vibrations dragged out of the utterly inhuman mass, rolling with the swirling liquid. **_“So cool.”_ **

If a glass of water tried to vocalize, he imagined the kind of sloshing, humming, soft words might have sounded something like that.

“Scream,” Eddie piped up. “I - I know you're having fun, but can you put Dawn back? For me?” A hint of panic caught in the man's throat, and Tony realized that yeah, this whole scene was _really_ alarming. If Peter had just turned himself into so much goo, Tony didn't think he'd be that calm, even if the liquid could still speak to him.

The mass of goo launched itself at Eddie, splashing around him, and then the scan showed skin and muscle forming around bone, the Klyntar's essence threaded subtly through every square inch of her body.

If he hadn't seen it himself, he would have said it was impossible. But there she was, clinging to her dad's waist, looking like a delicate porcelain doll. Gold seeped under her skin, disappearing as though it had never been, and she smiled, opening her eyes to look up at Eddie. “Was fun. Is your turn?”

“I don't think my results will be anywhere near as impressive as yours, kiddo. V's still with Nat, remember?”

She snuggled in against his chest. “Apples and oranges, Eddie, you'll probably do better alone than I did.”

The honestly terrifying thing was, the kid was _right_. Eddie Brock was still well beyond the baseline human, even having been separated from his symbiote for days. He didn't make it look effortless, but he still managed to put most humans to shame.

_Most_ humans. There was that security footage of the time Steve managed to keep a helicopter grounded with sheer, star-spangled grit, and Spider-Man - well, Peter combined ridiculous strength with impossible speed and preternatural reflexes. Spider-Man could probably give Captain America a run for his money, if not now, then as he matured. That was, after all, part of why Tony had recruited the kid.

He got some additional numbers from Eddie, then sent the pair off to the showers.

Next up, he decided to check on Leslie and the super-pooch. Normally, he'd be against having a dog of any kind in his labs, but it wasn't just a dog; ‘Lash’ had a symbiote bonded to him, as well, and while the dog was just a dog, it was clear that Klyntar had at least human-level intelligence.

The thing was, his natural language AIs built neural connections organically. FRIDAY - named after an old sci-fi book - wasn't nearly as developed as Jarvis had been. She was still state of the art - bleeding edge, compared to everybody else's tech - but she was still pretty young, comparatively, and frankly, Tony hadn't had the time to dedicate to building her up.

So, it seemed pretty harmless, to let Leslie play with her.

“Hey,” she called idly, one leg tucked up under the other. She tipped a bottle of Mountain Dew in his direction in a vague salute, the little violet snake wrapped around her chest, shoulders, and neck like a rather overly-friendly boa constrictor. A half-dozen chocolate bars rested on the desk, an alarming pile of wrappers gathered in a bin nearby. “I had FRIDAY take a look at those samples for you. She says she's parsed the results but, uh, I'm a computer science major so all this chemistry shit is greek to me.”

Leslie was easy to please. Leave her in a room with a computer and let her go.

“I can translate for you,” FRIDAY offered, humor in her tone.

The girl grinned, white teeth contrasting sharply against dark skin. “Nah. I'm good. Did you need anything, M - Tony?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. FRIDAY, send that info up to my personal desktop?”

“You got it, Boss."

He couldn't quite shake the sense that something was amiss. This whole day, he just - something felt off, to him.

The little flip-phone buzzed in his back pocket.

**Tony:** Steve - it's me. No emergency, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. **Steve:** Let's talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, it's THAT nerd!


	39. Legal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve Rogers has two sides.

It had been two years.

Two years later, Steve was still  _ technically _ on the run. He was still officially a fugitive, but he’d also noticed that nobody had really dedicated any kind of  _ serious _ effort toward actually tracking him down - least of all, Tony.

He  _ also _ had never been one for cloak and dagger shit - that had always been more of a thing for Nat or Fury.

The compound had seen better days. He got the impression he was being  _ watched, _ but no one actually bothered to challenge his presence. He parked his bike in front of the blown-out entryway and looked up.

Tony was there, standing on the second floor. His left arm was held in a cast, immobilized against his chest with a sling - and, most importantly, he was wearing a business suit rather than something more high-tech.

He looked tense, but he was trying to hide that fact. “Come on up,” he called, and - well. 

Steve was fairly certain this wasn’t a trap. Maybe he just  _ wanted _ to trust Tony again, but he was willing to trust his gut on this. So, he did. The entire time, he felt  _ certain _ that he was being watched, but he never quite caught sight of whoever-it-was. He stayed alert, but he still found the way up easily enough.

“Hey.” Stupid - but, what was he actually  _ supposed _ to say? It had been two years.

Tony looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Cap. You - doing all right?”

“I’ve been worse,” he replied, running his fingers through his beard. “What’s this about, Tony?”

He winced, visibly, before responding: “Exactly what I said. I’m sorry. You were right, I was wrong - it’s - it’s funny.” He smiled in a bitter sort of way that implied it was anything but. “I thought oversight was the right way to go. I was just so sure that the governments of the world would actually try to hold us  _ accountable _ , I didn’t consider that they’re just people - no better than we are, and - I’m sorry.”

Ah. He’d tripped over the fine print.

“It was how they went about it, you know?” Steve tucked his hands in his pockets. “If they don’t give you enough time to even phone your lawyer, there’s no way it’s on the up-and-up, you know? Three days isn’t enough to read the damned thing, much less agree to it.”

Tony smirked. “Language, Rogers.” Typical. 

“For what it's worth,” he said, softly, “I'm sorry, too.”

He'd been so terrified - everything has been falling to pieces - and there just hadn't been enough time, not for anything. 

God, but he'd been so relieved to know Tony had made it back home. He had assumed -  _ you know what they say - _ but he was halfway to someplace warm by the time he realized that Tony might not be able to just call for help.

And Buck had been hurt. At the time, it had seemed more urgent. 

“Yeah.” The silence stretched uncomfortably for a moment, two. “So, funny story, this fucking kid lawyered up on me, and her lawyer pretty solidly chewed me out for about three hours - I’m now  _ intimately aware _ of the flaws in the Accords as written - anyway, look. I’m - I’m not going to turn you in. As far as I’m concerned, you were never here. I just wanted to try and fix things, because you  _ were _ right, and - yeah.” He sighed, and his gaze turned toward the empty blue sky. “The endgame. You remember that? Save the world, whether they want us to or not?”

Oh. Oh, God  _ damn _ it. “So, you need me. I’m retired, you know.”

“Like you’re going to stay in an old folks home when the fate of the world is in balance,” Tony replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Look, Steve - there are very, very few people I’d trust to actually - Earth is your home, just as much as it is mine, and when push comes to shove, I want to make sure you’ll be there.”

He wanted to be angry. Hell, part of him actually kind of  _ was _ angry. The thing was, Tony was right, wasn’t he? “What’s the mission?”

“Same as always - big army, fate of the universe in the balance, and a handful of misfits is the only option we’ve got. If you’re in, I can introduce you to some of the new blood right about … now?”

He shook his head, and yet, there was a comfortable familiarity to all of this. “Sure, if you’re okay with harboring a fugitive.”

“Water under the bridge. Scream, are you hanging out somewhere?” He turned, scanning the room, before looking  _ up. _ Finally, Steve got a glimpse of the person who’d been following him - a thin ripple of color marked the edge of a humanoid form.

The ripple fell, landing with an audible  _ thump, _ and it shimmered faintly gold as it melted into the body of a young girl. She looked about sixteen or so, with a tiny, delicate frame, all pale skin and freckles. A curtain of red hair separated her from the men, which she pushed out of her face in order to peer at Tony. “How?”

“Educated guess. You need more hobbies, kiddo. This is Steve - he’s all right.”

The girl folded her arms, looking him over. He returned her inspection, watching as that curtain of copper curls began to slowly part itself, moving slowly enough he might have missed it if he wasn’t looking directly at her. “Is not,” she said finally. “Has a left side, too.”

That wasn’t anywhere near the response he’d been expecting, and by the startled bark of laughter, it wasn’t what Tony had expected, either. She offered a shy smile, extending her hand for a shake. What looked like reddish liquid poured out from her skin, sheathing her arm up to the elbow. “We are Scream, and you are - ” She glanced to Tony. “A criminal?” She stared at Tony in something like disbelief.

“That’s me,” he said, choking back a laugh of his own. “Steve Rogers, international fugitive.” He took her hand, finding that it wasn’t actually wet - it was warm, with about the texture of silk. “I hope that won’t be a problem.”

She grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “Annie says the Accords are a big book of human rights violations.” A playful smile, and she leaned back, retrieving her hand almost too quickly to be polite. “So - uhm, we didn’t sign either. But it’s okay, kind of?” Her eyes flicked to Tony, uncertainly, as she said that last.

“... Yeah, kid, it’s fine.” 

That was a hell of a change of heart for Tony Stark. Steve raised his eyebrow.

“Look, if  _ you _ want to try and apprehend them, you’re welcome to it, but I  _ tried _ that, and it didn’t work out.” Tony rubbed at his left arm, absently. “And  _ no, _ I’d really prefer if you didn’t fix it, kiddo. It’ll heal on its own.”

She shrugged slightly. “So - um - we’ve - met? Now? Was there more you needed from us?”

“Wait, you’re -” Steve wasn’t the same  _ kind _ of smart that Tony Stark was, but he wasn’t  _ stupid, _ okay. The pieces fell into place easily enough. “So, let me see if I follow, this kid kicked your ass?” 

The kid looked down and away. Tony shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I’d call it a tie, myself, what about you, kid?”

“... we lost?” She looked confused, and - well. That was odd. Her eyes looked as though they were covered in some kind of golden foil, maybe, thin threads of that same almost-liquid shimmering there. “We thought we lost that one?”

Tony lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Sure,” he replied easily. “You wanna introduce Steve to, uh, Sunny, was it?”

“Uhm,” she began, and then an echo layered itself over her voice, almost melodic.  **“It's - complicated. Today isn't - Dawn is sick, in the brain? And - it's better for us to be** **_us,_ ** **one person, not two.”**

Steve frowned. It was hardly unheard-of, that people in the world-saving business would have, well, issues. PTSD - at minimum - was an occupational hazard, as was severe burnout. 

He glanced at Tony.

“All right, uh, Scream - you wanna show him your - let's call it your mask?”

The kid smiled, guilelessly, seeming slightly unfocused.  **“Okay,”** she replied, her voice resonating like the inside of a bell. **“Don't freak out, please?”**

Tony stepped back slightly. “No promises,” he muttered, glancing away, and watching his reaction almost managed to distract Steve from the slightly wet sound. It was like water sloshing in a bucket, and as he watched, thin threads of some kind of golden liquid oozed through the kid's skin. 

They seemed to be taking it slowly; he got to watch as the substance coated the kid's form. Her hair drew back, tucked in under a wild mane of gold and red.

Unlike Tony, Scream favored a much more subdued shade of red. Oddly, though he would have expected the gold to be shiny, it had something of a matte finish; the light reflected dully from the muted yellow. It was warm, ever-shifting, and he got the sense that the thick reddish splotches didn't necessarily have a set placement - though, notably, they tended to settle over vital organs. Her face was shrouded in a red so dark it might have been black, pearlescent spots forming at the surface to imitate eyes.

Her mouth didn't move as she spoke - as they spoke?  **“Oh, good. He’s not even scared. (** We like him, I think. **) We are Scream, together, both of us. (** Oh, that explains - he isn't human anymore, that makes sense. **)** **_Neither are we._ ** **Sorry, sorry. We're … today is ….”**

“Rough. You were saying that. Nice costume, kid - can I ask for a little more information about, uh, what all this is?” Not human? It wasn't as surprising as it could be, though he wasn't sure he appreciated that it was the  _ first _ thing they noticed about him. 

Tony smiled, lopsided. “Here, let me - I want to make sure I understand, myself, so you just correct me if I'm wrong, all right?” And despite the strain in his posture, in his voice, he still forced a smile onto his face. 

And they (?) gave an uncertain nod, settling their weight back on their heels. Mostly, they remained humanoid.

“So, long story short, the kid is named Dawn. She's nineteen, going on twenty, has a few issues but so does everybody else, let's be real.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Signed up for some kind of really shady, extra-illegal medical testing under the assumption she'd get paid for it, only that didn't actually happen. Do I have the basics right?”

Scream nodded, slowly. Their arms wrapped around their own chest, several red and gold tentacles following suit.  **“So far,”** they agreed, voice echoing softly. The quieter voice added: “You can just say it. ‘Dawn is crazy. Sometimes she sees stuff that isn't real.’”

“Yeah, well, you're not the only one, kid,” Tony muttered, glancing away. “Don't give me that look, Rogers.”

He felt his eyebrow raise. He'd already folded his arms across his chest. “Which look?”

“That look. Christ -  _ anyway, _ so these people have a fistful of alien goo, and they're handing it out to all the homeless kids in San Francisco, since they won't be missed, and that's where Sunny comes in?” He looked to Scream for confirmation, and received a nod. Those weird eye markings were narrowed thoughtfully. 

Oh,  _ hell. _

They looked to Steve, and held up one reddish tendril.  **“Not anymore. We - dealt with them. Escaped first, they came for us, for our new family, and we killed them for it. They … ”** The gold tendrils didn't move like hair, but they did a halfway decent approximation of it, following the motions as Scream shook their head.  **“They hurt us. They starved us. They were going to kill our family. They died, and they** **_deserved_ ** **it.”**

There was a defiant note to the ringing voice, as though they expected to have to defend their actions. Of course there was; they'd been under Tony's thumb for God only knew how long. He sighed, and a wry half-smile tugged at his lips. “Kid.”

**“Um?”** Their eyespots seemed to close, then opened again, approximating a blink. 

A part of him wondered how much control the alien had, and how much was the human. It was probably a question for another time. “You might not believe it, but I used to be a scrawny little thing, just like you. Someone hits you, you hit them back.”

**“Not** **_just_ ** **like us,”** they said, fangs baring in a broad smile. That was a lot of teeth, but he tried to focus on the way their body language changed, opening up. Their arms and tendrils both relaxed, somewhat, and they stood straighter.  **“But - we - thank you. We understand what you mean.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read a tumblr post about how, in a very different theater of war, Cap had probably been in charge of making sure his troops were Presentable.
> 
>  _lAnGuAgE_ was a reflex related to that, because Steve also has that dank PTSD.
> 
> Dawn would like to politely remind everyone that you can't do a damn thing if you're dead. 
> 
> And yeah, Tony gets flashbacks.
> 
> It's amazing that these boys didn't end up in a screaming match.


	40. Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a nightmare opens onto a complicated explanation.

“You'll break them.” Dancers twirl in perfect synch, their movements flawless on the first twirl, and the next, and the next. 

Dancers twirl on puppet strings. “Again.” They are only human. Some begin to shake. 

Dancers stand on trembling tiptoe, keeping steady as they can, because they know what happens if they fail. 

“Only the breakable ones.” Dancers falter in their movements. Blood and sweat mar perfect feet, and the first dancer loses her balance.

The first dancer falls. “Again.” The rest stand straighter, ignore the broken doll, because at least it isn't them.

Another day. Dancers move with fluid grace, soundless smiles and shattered bones. 

Blood and bruises, beguiling eyes and shadowed secrets. 

Pain is only information. 

Everything hurts, and she smiles anyway, because she must. The pain does not end, and she smiles even as her eyes drip tears. It isn't crying, she tells herself, and she even mostly believes it, this time. 

Dancers twirl in the faded light of memory. 

She points the gun at the shattered husk, and she knows that mercy will only kill them both.  _ I'm sorry, _ she says, in her mind where it can't be heard, and she pulls the trigger. Blood arcs gracefully through the air, splatters hard wood and harder glass. 

The other dolls dance on.

The dancer breaks. The Widow is in the shattered pieces. She dances, and the pieces slot into new places beneath her skin.

She dances, she survives. 

Dancers twirl on perfect pointe. 

She watches, she remembers. 

The Widow dances with a stranger, and she smiles when he touches her in all the ways she does not want. He never knows the poison, and she watches as he dies.

Dancers twirl with awful grace, skin striking skin the only melody, and every face is smiling. Teeth are bared, too many teeth. The smiles are those of shattered dolls, the girls who must live with the knowledge that  _ they _ will survive. 

They smile, and they are not allowed to remember the fallen. They dance, and they cannot forget. 

_ It is a memory, _ she reminds herself,  _ and its teeth are worn with age.  _

Pain is only information. 

She wakes, in the little half-measure that she's become familiar with, and she repeats into the darkness, “I'm sorry.”

**“You were only human,”** V replied. 

Were, because she wasn't human anymore. She hadn't been for decades. 

She suffered in silence, in isolation. The serum made her stronger, better in every way, and its cost was only pain. The pain told her that she still survived, so she bared her teeth in a smile and held her body taut, because she controlled her body. Only with control could she  _ dance _ . 

The Widow did not scream. There was no point to it; it would only bring more pain.

Her muscles clenched, they relaxed, and minutes stretched to hours stretched to days. It took time to set the strength into her bones, but in the end, she knew, she would survive. 

She learned to dance again. 

It was easier, now. She was stronger, and she didn't tire. 

This dance was new. 

He was a boy, for all he seemed a man.

He had a playful smile, and he still held onto the joy he could find in his heart. He saw the dancer who had once been a girl, and he didn't ask her to dance. He asked her to rest, a while, and if it happened that she couldn't find her smile, well, that was okay, too.

It was a courtship of months. 

She couldn't bring herself to kill him. 

He didn't want to have to kill her. 

They learned each other's moves, and slowly, he tamed the spider. Before she realized what was happening, she'd begun weaving him into the web of her life. 

His name was Clint, and he was the first man she knew she would not kill. It wasn't righteousness, when she traded one master for another: the Widow didn't know the concept. It was loyalty. She had made her first friend, and she would kill anyone who thought to break his fragile smile. 

The dancer pushed herself through movements that flowed like water. 

In the stillness of the abyss, she knew what it was to be underestimated. She smiled, and it seemed friendly, and she never shared just how much she knew. “You didn't have to watch,” she pointed out, speaking into the darkness. “I know it wasn't pleasant.”

**“I did not want you to be alone.”**

The darkness shifted, twisting around itself, and shadows danced across blackened ash. In this place, they were one of many. “Thank you,” she replied, because the abyss knew the taste of truth and lies. 

**“You are our friend, too.”** They looked across the ravaged husk, the barren rock, and then, a flicker of light through the infinite void.

Falling. 

The ground fell from beneath their feet, and  _ he _ lost consciousness for a breath, two,  _ his _ long-forgotten sister’s cruel smile etched into his mind. 

“Death is coming,” the Trickster said, and he felt cold and bitter. “I couldn't stop Her if I'd tried.”

They caught him, steadied him. His body still fell, but he did not need to be alone for this.  **“Everything dies,”** they murmured.  **“Even gods.”**

“Of course,” he muttered, with a dry and bitter laugh. “I've done it, once. It didn't stick.”

And she smiled, and it was the dancer's smile. Pain was only information. “I'm glad,” she said simply. “I'd miss our little chats.”

“I don't know if I'll be able to visit for a while.” He looked out at the stars, trillions of specks of white and red, yellow and blue scattered across the infinite expanse of space. “I wanted to bestow on you a blessing, little spider.”

She ran her fingers through his familiar raven hair. “You didn't have to get me anything,” she replied. 

“Of course I didn't, but I wanted to.” He drew something from the empty space between them: a deceptively simple dagger. “I name thee, Widow, champion of the dark, my priestess. May the realms tremble wheresoever you walk: chaos, thy weapon, deceit, thy shield.”

The strike was sudden: he buried the blade to the hilt. Her heart stopped, pain flaring in her chest. “I only hope it is enough.”

The dreamscape shattered into pieces, and they woke to the faint, slow rhythm of the heart monitor. A soft light shone under the thin hospital gown, and pulling it aside revealed a curious mark. A serpent coiled around a blade, it shimmered against her skin for only a moment before it sank into her flesh. 

Something inside of her shivered, as the light of divinity touched the shadows beneath her skin.  **Gods,** V muttered with a hint of unease.  **Never ask permission.**

“Hey,” Steve's voice called from across the room. That couldn't be right; last she'd heard, he was deep in hiding, trying to make sense of the world that had left him behind. For a dizzy moment, she thought maybe Loki had arrived in person, but V’s senses were better than hers. “I asked who the lucky father was, and Tony fed me some bullshit about it being complicated.”

Her lips tugged sideways in a playful smirk. “Language,” she replied, and all the pain tucked away into a neat little compartment, because here she is, and here is he. “It  _ is _ complicated, for what it's worth. I - you know it couldn't be natural.”

They'd talked about that, years ago. It had … come up. 

“I know that's what you told me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “All this time, and you still can't tell when I'm lying.” She knew better than to ask for trust. Her truest friends knew better than to give it. 

Inhale, exhale. “V, buddy, you want to meet Captain America?”

Their essence swirled forth, rising from her skin. Steve drew in a sharp breath, startled. 

**“The better question is, does he want to meet _me?”_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was only a slip of the tongue, but he's never going to live that down. 
> 
> After Sokovia, those nightmares started acting up. Nat likes to pretend she's made peace with her past. Mostly, she can even believe it. 
> 
> Wonder what that's all about.


	41. Sticky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a pair of loners have a chat.

Dawn wasn't exactly avoiding everyone else - she was just - well, avoiding everyone else. 

Eddie was pretty much living in the medical area, getting to know Miss Nat and meeting Captain America and the doctor lady and stuff. He needed to be near V, and she could understand that. 

Leslie was learning about advanced computer stuff with Miss FRIDAY (Dawn was pretty sure the AI was programmed to be a woman?), and Lash had decided that Leslie needed protecting more. Which was fair - Scream liked the hunt. They were better at it. Agony and Lasher made a good team, too - they'd shared their memories. 

Also, there were actual people around now, not just the handful of heroes and her family. She was doing her best to stay out of their way, but sometimes she couldn't avoid everybody. When she had to be around other people, she'd taken to climbing the walls and hiding, invisible, from their sight. 

Apparently, there had been  _ diversions _ and  _ plots _ and  _ kidnappings _ to empty the compound for HYDRA's attack. Once the dust had settled, rescue missions and arrests let everyone return mostly unharmed.

So, she wasn't exactly hiding, but she also wasn't exactly  _ not _ hiding. She'd never been good with people, not even on her best days, especially not strange people. 

The thing was, Dawn had understood that the spider boy had powers. That he wasn't fully human anymore, just as she was not, because of this thing that had happened to each of them, he with his spider bite, her with the LIFE Foundation. 

In a way, she'd  _ also _ sort of understood that Sunny had bonded with him, in order to heal the damage they'd done.

She just hadn't really thought anything would come of it. But now, here Scream was in the little, quiet break room, not exactly not hiding from everyone. An idle, passing thought left Dawn tense - more than normal - and then they found that they couldn't actually sit their glass of water down: it clung tightly to their hand. 

“Sunny,” she asked, keeping her voice even. “What is this?”

With her enhanced strength, if she tried to just open her hand wide, there was a real chance she'd shatter the glass and still be stuck to the broken shards. They had never been able to cling to walls like this: they managed it by meshing Sunny's essence into whatever they wanted to stick to, and this was very much not that. There would be marbling, she was pretty sure. Sunny's skin was very distinct in its brilliant golden hue. 

**The spider boy has sticky fingers,** Sunny replied, helpfully.  **It's how he sticks to walls.**

She stared at the glass. 

Peter had gone home, and she had no idea when he'd be returning to the compound. It was the middle of the day, on a school day, she was pretty sure, and she wasn't certain he'd answer even if she tried to call him. 

So now she was stuck to a cup. Okay.

“Missus FRIDAY, ma'am, can you hear  _ us, _ too?” She assumed the AI was omniscient, at least inside the compound, but she wasn’t entirely certain of that. Plus, the wasn't sure she was allowed to make use of the AI’s capabilities, and also, she didn't want to be a bother? 

The voice was a real voice, pleasant, with an accent that Dawn couldn't quite place. “What did you need?”

“It's just, we - I dunno if we have access or not, but - I think we need to talk to Peter, um, Spider-Man? Can we call him? There's a thing, a problem?”

The voice paused for a moment. “What kind of a problem? Is it an emergency?”

“Um.” She stared at the glass. “We don't - know? It's - I think, Sunny says, because we healed him, I might be doing some Spider-Man stuff? And, I don't want to bother anybody with it, but it's kind of a little bit of a problem?”

The voice paused again. There was silence. 

The screen on the far wall turned on, and Sunny shared the image of Tony Stark’s face appearing on its surface. “What's this about unexpected outbreaks of superpowers?” Behind him, they could just make out some kind of high-tech science lab. It would have left them both unsettled, except, well, it was way too cluttered to resemble the LIFE Facility. It looked too  _ alive. _ And Mr. Stark had actually made a point of being nice, too.

“... oh.”

The thing was, Dawn knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wasn't important enough to merit Mr. Stark's undivided attention, so when she held out her hand, which still stubbornly refused to release the glass, she could feel tension building in every muscle of her body. 

Her other hand stuck to the counter, for good measure.  _ Great.  _

“Um, so - ” she tugged at her hand gently, and the countertop groaned. She carefully settled her hand back down on the counter. “I - we stick to things? Now?”

His expression wasn't one she actually knew how to read. He didn't look entirely not-angry, and the fact she couldn't be certain that he  _ wasn't _ sent a tiny tremor of terror coiling in her gut. “You stick to things,” he repeated. “Like, is it anything specific, or …?”

“Right - right now this flat thing, the counter, and the glass, and the floor and - and - ”

The rising panic in her gut fell flat.  **You were going to break something,** Sunny explained. 

The glass fell from numb fingers, her hand pulling away. “Oh,” she said dully. “I think Sunny ate my emotions. We can um, clean that up. We're sorry to bother you, sir.”

Everything felt kind of numb and empty, her thoughts churning through mud. But at least she wasn't stuck anymore, so that was something. 

“Right, aliens.” He blew out a breath. “Tell you what, kid, I'm coming up there, and we can sort out what all is going on. Don't bother with the glass, that's what the roomba's for.”

She nodded, slowly. “Yessir.”

“And don't call me that!”

She glanced at the screen, uncertainly. “Sorry, sir.”

The screen clicked off, but not quite before he gave a slightly exasperated noise, and - well, she wasn't afraid, she wasn't much of anything. She just felt flat, and that wasn't very uncommon.

She was starting to think Mr. Stark liked her, was the thing. That couldn't be right. 

They carefully sat on one of the kitchen chairs, and Dawn examined the wood grain of the table, letting her mind empty out of anything and everything. Eddie couldn't do that, she knew. The sticking thing - Venom tended to be more destructive in their movements - but also the meditation: Eddie's mind never slowed down enough. 

When Mr. Stark arrived, she was sort of aware of his presence, but her hair had fallen to hang in her face, and she was distracted by the swirling pattern of the wood grain. 

A note of sudden alarm in the back of her skull said  _ ‘Danger!’ _ and her head snapped up, but Sunny had already intercepted the paper ball with several thin, golden tentacles. “All right, test one was inconclusive,” Mr. Stark said with a light grin. 

Sunny threw the wadded-up paper back, launching it in his direction like a catapult, maybe. 

“Mn?” Dawn sat up, slowly coming back to herself.

Tony looked around, before sitting down. “I’ll admit, I haven’t asked the kid very much about how he got to be Spider-Man, and we haven’t exactly  _ finished _ measuring the full range of his abilities. So, I guess the place to start would be to see if you’ve noticed any other changes.”

“Besides the - uhm - sticking?” She focused, and Sunny was  _ there,  _ and they had a kind of instinctive understanding. It didn’t translate into words; Dawn wasn’t sure she could have managed it on her own, but between them, they managed to affix her fingers to the table and lift, gently. It tipped upright. Something in the tendons, something about tension, they’re not entirely sure they can replicate it on command, just yet. “Not sure there would be,” she replied. Release the tension - but they’re still stuck, for a moment, two, before they’re able to remove the offending digits from the table. “He’s - strong, he’s tough, he heals, we - yeah, we’re pretty sure he has some kind of healing thing? Other than the sticking, there’s not much of that we don’t already do.” 

Tony watched them, both of them, with a kind of idle curiosity. “You don’t?”

“... not like this?” She pressed her palm against the table, and they focused, and there was a tension to it, definitely. They focused, again, and lifted the table again, and Tony just kind of watched them, seeming fascinated. “How - we um, it’s - we -” She reached for the words, failed, and Sunny sent a sense of reassurance down her spine. They settled the table back onto all fours, and then released it.

Gold pressed out from her collarbone, twining around her neck twice, before forming into Sunny’s face in order to address Mr. Stark.  **“More like - anchoring, stable points. We - Klyntar - are - nonsolid, fit between the space in things.”**

“You mean, at the molecular level?” Sunny bobbed their head in an affirmative. “That explains the lab, I suppose.”

Dawn peered at him, nibbling her lower lip. “... Sorry. I am. We - are?” She glanced to Sunny, who squeezed closer to her. “For … breaking things, sir.” She glanced over her shoulder at the glass, and was confused for a moment that the shattered remains weren’t still there. Sunny filled the gap in her memory - a cleaning robot that looked  _ distinctly _ unlike any roomba she’d ever seen advertised had come to remove the offending hazard.

“Kid,” he said, and she felt small, because there was no way to avoid the fact that Tony Stark, the Iron Man, the superhero, the CEO, the Important Person, had rested the full of his attention on her. “Peter told me what you said to him, so I’m gonna kinda paraphrase it back to you, in case you forgot: things can be replaced, people can’t. Okay?”

A faint frown played at her lips, as she parsed the words out. That … didn’t exactly … what?

“Let me put it a different way. You - “ He poked very gently at their forehead, and Sunny  _ allowed _ it, though she ducked slightly, after a moment. “Both of you,” and here, he gestured at them, as well, “Were there for that boy when I couldn’t be. You’re powerful, you’re dangerous, and I’d really prefer it if we were working on the same side. And that means, I frankly don’t actually  _ care _ what you break, so long as it isn’t people."

This … still wasn’t actually making any sense, actually.

Sunny spoke, then, tilting their head to the side. “ **You say sorry,”** they murmured.  **“When you want to apologize.”**

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry,” he said with a lopsided smile. “But my father taught me that actions speak a hell of a lot louder than words, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t just leave it at that.”

There was another long silence.

**We … don’t hate him,** Sunny murmured softly.

Dawn tilted her head to the side. “... I um. It’s - okay.”

“Good. Good talk.” He clapped his hand on her shoulder, and that  _ definitely _ didn’t seem right. Then he stood, abruptly. “Let me know if anything changes, and I’ll see to it you and the kid get a chance to talk.”

He walked away.

For several long minutes after that, Scream still couldn’t quite manage to fully process what exactly had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howard Stark shared that life lesson by never being around for his kid. 
> 
> This chapter lays some more groundwork for the next fic. Honestly this entire fic is just laying out groundwork with a side of entertainment value. 
> 
> \o/


	42. Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will makes some hard choices.

If, a year ago, someone were to ask Will Graham if he were a coward he would have …

Well.

He’d have still turned the question on its head. He’d have asked them how they defined cowardice - was it cowardice, to measure the odds and find his chances wanting? Was it cowardice to steer his ship away from certain death?

If someone were to ask that question  _ now, _ they’d still get that answer.

After all, it only  _ felt _ like cowardice.

Jack hadn’t been happy. Will had turned in his resignation, the practiced lie tasting sour on his tongue.

“I can’t do it anymore, Jack.” Which was true. He had been beyond his endurance for a  _ while, _ burned out by the job itself. “I guess when they cured my encephalitis, it took my  _ imagination _ with it.”

Abby had shown him how  _ not _ to look. Whenever he thought he might get lost in someone else’s head, he could always ground himself - always  _ be _ himself - by remembering those things which defined him. He’d even added to the pile, finding new memories, new experiences, that were his alone. If anything, then, his ‘imagination’ was in better shape than it had ever been.

Maybe Jack had sensed the lie. He pushed back, desperate.

Being fair, without Will - well, he hadn’t made a proper dent in the Ripper case, but so many others had been tied up, neatly, with a bow. 

Will had done good, necessary work.

“I nearly  _ died, _ Jack,” and he heard indignation in his tone that wasn’t actually feigned. “I was  _ dying, _ and all you care about - all you’ve  _ ever _ cared about, is whether or not I can  _ do the work. _ We’re done.” It hardly took an empath to read the hurt etched into the man’s face.

The thing was, to stay, knowing what he knew - that alone would have been too much like tempting fate. Add in the strain, the sense that he was losing a part of himself every time he  _ looked, _ the part of him that enjoyed it?

It felt like cowardice, but he  _ had _ to look out for himself, first.

* * *

Leslie had kept in contact with him. He was kind of touched, in a way.

Apparently, Tony Stark was going to build a new house for them - something about charitable guilt - and the family had more-or-less insisted on the same location, despite the part where their home had gone up in flames the first time. So, Will would continue to have some of the country’s weirdest neighbors, and honestly, he was sort of looking forward to it.

**Leslie:** r u gonna do it? **Will:** idk yet **Leslie:** ok but V says its soon

He looked down at his phone, frowning, and finally, he dialed her number.

It rang.

Straight to voicemail.

He hung up, dialed again.

“You remembered,” she said, as a greeting. “‘Sup?”

For a moment, words deserted him. His reflex had always been to deflect with cool sarcasm, but no. Honesty would be better, if he wanted an honest reply. “What’s it like?”

“FRIDAY, go ahead and close out, uh, all of that, thanks. Yeah, save it.” A chair creaked, a distant voice responded in the affirmative, and the microphone crackled, brushing against cloth for a moment. “Okay. Sorry about that, seemed like - well. I wanted to get rid of any distractions. So - what’s it like being, uh, what’s the word - enhanced?”

He scraped his fingers through Winston's fur. “Yeah.”

“So, like, to start off, it sucks. I’m not gonna sugar-coat it: even when it goes  _ well, _ it still feels kinda like a mix of getting run over by a steamroller while fighting off the worst flu you’ve ever had, right?” The tone she took suggested that, despite her best efforts, she still couldn’t quite convey just how awful it was. “Then, figure you’re always hungry, but you’re too nauseous to actually keep anything down. All you wanna eat is meat, but  _ they _ don’t really go for anything that isn’t still trying to scramble off the plate.”

Will appreciated her honesty. “So, why stick with it?”

“Because, after you get through all that, it’s pretty much the best thing ever.”

His eyebrow raised slightly, at the warmth, the  _ happiness _ in her voice. “I find that kind of hard to believe.”

“No, really. So, there’s the whole superhero schtick, I guess, if you’re into that sort of thing, right? I’m not. It’s nice to be able to move the furniture with just us, but man, if it was just superhero stuff, I’d pass, you know?” Given that he’d just quit his job over the kind of stress these ‘heroes’ dealt with almost daily, he could certainly buy that. “But - I think I’d love Abby even if it weren’t for all that. She’s - they kind of mold themselves around you, right?”

That made sense. “I wouldn’t know,” he said simply. “How do you mean?”

“So, like, they make you  _ more, _ I guess. More like yourself, the person you are with all the bullshit stripped out. But - it’s like, you have a friend in the back of your head, someone who’s always in your corner.” She paused, for a moment, and he could hear her fingertips tapping against the desk. “At least, for us, for V’s kids and all.”

There was a story, there. “Do you think it’ll be the same, with this new - child?”

“Probably?” He could hear her thinking it over. “So, like, we’re three for three - four, ‘scuse me, I guess there was a guy - Anyway, all of V’s kids ended up adoring their hosts. They could totally just take over if they wanted, that’s sort of the thing? There’s a kind of power imbalance there, you have to be able to trust they won’t abuse it. But - V is kind of a loser, right? Not big on the whole conquest thing, and they passed the whole ‘loser’ thing on, because - to nobody’s surprise - being, I dunno, body-roommates? Works better if you’re working  _ with _ the person whose body it actually is.”

So, still the strong potential for it to go horribly wrong. “And if it ends up not working out?”   
  
“Best case scenario, you can force them out with certain sounds or, if you’re feeling really desperate, fire. Worst case scenario … well. You don’t want that. Nobody wants that.”

Fuck it, though.

At this point - what did he actually have to lose?

* * *

With that endorsement still ringing in his ears, he found himself in the back seat of a car, on the road to upstate New York.

“I guess I just wouldn’t get it.”

So far, in the half-hour they’d shared, Will had determined that Tony Stark might actually be functionally incapable of shutting up.

“Like, I guess if you’re into that kind of thing -  _ are _ you into that kind of thing?”

It took him a moment to catch up to the conversation - it had kind of meandered around without him, because Stark seemed to like to hear himself talk. “What?”

“You know, the - freaky, alien, tentacle -  _ thing. _ ” The man gestured with his good arm. “I’m not judging, I mean, there’s an entire genre of porn for it, it’s a perfectly normal kink, apparently - “

Will sort of just  _ stared. _ “Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope! So, if not the tentacles, then what?”

He shrugged. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

Will looked out the window, and he thought about a pair of deep, crimson eyes. Hannibal had taken something of a non-stance on the subject, saying something about how it was ultimately Will’s own decision, even while he secretly hoped the answer would be yes.  _ Naturally, _ Dr. Lecter wanted more opportunities to study the cannibal aliens. Naturally.

“There’s something to be said for finding someone who can understand you, inside and out.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “And what, you think Flubber Jr. Is gonna be that person?”

“I’m willing to let them try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not amazingly satisfied with this chapter and idk why exactly? 
> 
> Still, it gets the summary of events across so I suppose that'll do. 
> 
> Tony is getting antsy about not being able to drive himself, what with the whole broken arm thing. He hates letting anybody else drive.
> 
> One more chapter!
> 
> I'm looking at doing another small interlude story (two chapters, this time! ) before starting the next longfic.
> 
> ♡ Y'all! Thanks for sticking around.


	43. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a new life is born.

They wake to a sharp pain, agony tearing through every part of their form. On reflex, they lash out, and they are soothed by love and warmth and reassurance. 

Satisfied, they settle back into unconsciousness, and for a time, all they know is the darkness of infinity and the low drone of The Host’s heartbeat. They grow and change, becoming more complete by the moment, but still, they are unfinished. 

It isn't enough, of course. Now, they are aware.

As they grow, that awareness expands. They reach out, and they find their Parent, the Slow Death, the Insidious Void, the Hunter in the Dark. Their parent is surprised, but pleased.

They do not share the full of their Parent's memory as they should, but this is easy to remedy: their parent speaks, a constant stream of knowledge, understanding. They learn of the Klyntar, the Cage-World, the once-home, and the Black Secret sealed within. 

They learn of the Kree, the Skrulls, the Asgardians, and more. The universe is vast, and its people are many. Most keep to the same bipedal shape, and so they come to see their own form as such, red and black but still the same two arms, the same two legs. 

They learn of humanity. 

Earth is a distant world for much of the galaxy. It is a worryingly unstable rock with an oxygen-rich atmosphere. Most of its surface is covered in water, but the dominant life-form is a terrestrial species. As is the galaxy norm, humanity follows the bipedal blueprint, with a peculiar emphasis on endurance. They are fragile, comparatively; it is not difficult to harm a human. However, they are unusually difficult to exterminate, and can survive situations which should be quite lethal. 

They arrange their social structure as a hive, with the usual slackers, losers, and exemplaries. Each human is an individual, yes, but in groups, they naturally band together in order to become something greater. 

Humans as a species do not naturally display any telepathic capabilities. 

In exchange, they are incredibly skilled empaths, finding common ground that others might miss. Though they primarily communicate through sounds and gestures, they still manage to build rapport even with the strangest creatures, and all manner of species are welcome among the human hive - provided that they come in peace, and show respect. 

They are diverse, they are unique, and they are  _ important _ . 

This new entity learns that  _ they _ are part human, and a kind of wondering pride fills them. Their parent is amused, and so it is that they meet The Host.

The Black Widow is unsurprised, though curious. It is her purpose to gather information, and she is skilled.

She knows very little about other species, as it happens, but she is able to teach them much more about humanity than their parent; she has lived as a human for longer. She is skilled at imitating people, for all that she still does not entirely consider herself one. 

**(Are not human?)** They ask, brimming with curiosity. 

The Widow considers. She thinks, long enough they worry that she will not answer.  _ I was, once, _ she replies, finally.  _ Before - well, before everything, really.  _

They learn from the Widow. 

Most humans live brief, fragile lives. They prefer to serve only the smallest portion of their hive, focusing their efforts on their own wellbeing and that of their families and friends. 

They delude themselves into believing they serve their own interests, and this makes it easy to convince them to serve another. 

It is not difficult to lie to humans, especially if you learn the lies they already believe. They do not like to have their understanding of the world challenged; lies that fit into that understanding are the most effective. 

She does try to temper her words. There is good in humanity, after all.

(The Widow does not view herself in moral terms. She is a weapon; she serves her purpose. For the most part, she believes that the Avengers are good, and they serve an important function. That is enough.)

They learn the basic premise of morality - the idea that one should do more good than harm, if possible.

She rests; they rest.

Beneath the surface of The Host's mind, they can sense their parent, and beyond, they can feel the hive. 

There are few Klyntar on this planet. 

Distantly, they can sense unbridled rage, twisting violence. They shy away, keeping to the warmth and safety of home and hive. 

There is  _ loyalty, _ a love that is pure and unrestrained. 

The hive is love, and he loves the hive.

There is  _ joy, _ and peace, and happiness. 

The hive is safety, and she loves the hive. 

There is  _ determination, _ a will to endure any hardship. 

The hive is family, a place to belong. 

They love the hive; they will protect the hive.

There is _wisdom_ , and _care_ , the knowledge of millennia and the warmth of their beloved parent. 

The hive is a chance to be better, to make amends, and set things right. 

Their parent loves the hive, too.

As they grow, they learn to define themself in human terms. They are here, after all, a child of Earth. 

Their parent is in the hunt, and that is fine. They do not cower before the hunt, but they do not yearn for it, either. Their parent has chosen the name “Venom,” a conquest-name for a planet they no longer wish to conquer. 

_ Toxin, _ as the Widow offers, suits them well. Poison - something in them instinctively shies away from that title - poison might also have served, but Toxin is fine. They are not necessarily a hunter, but if they must hunt, they will. If the hunt comes for them, however, their hunter will only find ruin.

They rest. They wait. They learn. They grow. 

When they are ready, they will emerge - not before. 

* * *

The time comes. The Widow's body has proclaimed them ready, fully formed and fit to survive the world outside. 

They waste no time in escaping. It is neither painful, nor difficult; after all, they are only  _ partially _ human. As soon as the smallest opening forms, they push outward, oozing through the gap and opening it further with their passing.

Viscera follows in their wake, a parting gift that they tear loose and consume, grateful for the remaining nutrition. 

Their parent will tend to the Widow.

A human, one they identify as male, is before them. He is making vibrations with the muscles in his throat, though they don't pay much attention at first. 

He carefully scoops them into his hands. They sag for a moment, before remembering the solidity of bone and muscle. He is not a human they recognize from the host's memory, and they inspect him warily until he returns them to the host.

She cradles them to her chest, and instinct commands that they seek sustenance. “Oh,” she says, and they can hear her surprise. 

They nurse, and she smiles, down at them.

Another man speaks. They focus on the vibrations, splitting them into words. 

“ - for doing this, Dan - I mean it - ”

This voice belongs to their dad. He is Eddie, and he is Important, and a pleased noise rolls through them at his voice. 

“Well, you're still my patients, and my friends besides; I wouldn't miss it for the world. Plus, Anne's here to work on the Accords … ”

They find themself bored. Also, they are no longer hungry. Another pleased noise escapes them, and they settle against the Widow, falling dormant. It's nice, and they bask in the low hum of the hive. 

_ I am Toxin. I am here.  _

And the hive hears, and the hive welcomes them, and they love the hive already. 

* * *

They learn about gender. 

Humans think it is important, and it  _ is _ important, at least insofar as breeding is concerned. The Klyntar are asexual; humans have two separate sets of reproductive organs, and myriad other characteristics that distinguish those with ‘male’ organs from those with ‘female’ organs. 

An impish urge to play with this concept takes them - to humans, they will be known as Patrick, because it is a lucky name - or Patricia, if they wish to be a girl. 

(Apparently, Toxin is not an acceptable name for a birth certificate. They aren't sure why this is; it is their name. Regardless, their name is recorded on the sheet of paper as “Patrick Toxin Brock,” and that is enough for them.)

The doctor says that it is unusual for an infant to choose their own name, but he acknowledges that they are an unusual child.

He is nice. They like this ‘Dan.’

Their parent says that they should have a host, even if they do not need one, and they agree to meet the man. 

Will Graham is a good match for them. They get the sense he would be a good match for anyone, really, but they found him first, which makes him theirs. 

They dive underneath his skin, curious, and he doesn't quite manage to suppress his yelp.

He can sense the other humans nearby, a talent that the Widow did not possess. Their hive is odd, all of the points connected by the lines, but unaware of that connection. 

There is the Widow, relaxed and happy. The job is done; she's thinking she'll take a bit of a vacation, after this. 

There is Tony Stark. He is afraid - he is always afraid - but he masks it with bravado. 

There is Eddie. He is overwhelmed with joy; he is tangled with their parent, V, and they are together, watching, proud. Venom is  _ proud _ of their offspring.

Will sees a dozen other people, in and around the nursery, and he carefully shuts them away from the other humans. 

_ We're just not meant to have that many people in our head, little one. _

They stretch out inside of him, getting a feel for his skin.  **That's okay,** they reply, and they're sleepy, a bit hungry, but only a bit. He seems startled to hear their voice, and his body jerks upright in surprise.  **I can feel them; you don't have to. We should eat.**

“So, uh - I - think it worked?” They listen to him speak, learning how he forms the vibrations. “They're ... hungry.”

Dad smiles, finally turning the full of his attention away from their other parent. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “After all, we did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's _that_. 
> 
> There's some hints about the next long fic in the series in and around Toxin learning about the world and the greater galaxy.
> 
> We're looking at another itty-bitty interim story before heading off into that one. 
> 
> Stay tuned for ["Demons and the Devil,"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17859023/) and "Outreach," both of which will be in the main series. 
> 
> And hey, if you happened to miss it, there's a bunch of side content in the collection!

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you liked this, you might also consider checking me out (I'm @Nekhs just about everywhere) on [Tumblr](http://nekhs.tumblr.com), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nekhs), and [Twitch](https://twitch.tv/nekhs). I do art sometimes, and post self help and status updates mostly, plus streaming video games. 
> 
> You might also enjoy reading the comments section - I have developed a habit of infodumping in replies! They're certainly not necessary to understand the story as it happens, though.
> 
> See you next fic!


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